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Full text of "Twelve years in the saddle for law and order on the frontiers of Texas"




HOUSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY 

HOUSTON, TEXAS 



; 






WARREN EDWARD MORRIS 

Not a Ranger — At present commanding officer over all around him. 

A nephew of_W. J. L. Sullivan. Son of Mr. and Mrs. 

EdwardS. Morris, of Carthage, Texas. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation 



http://www.archive.org/details/twelveyearsinsadOOsull 



TWELVE YEARS IN THE 
SADDLE 

FOR LAW AND ORDER 

ON THE 

FRONTIERS OF TEXAS 



-JL- 



y 



BY 

SERGEANT W. J. L. SULLIVAN 
Texas Ranger 

CO. B, FRONTIER BATTALION 



AUSTIN 

VON BOECKM ANN-JONES CO., PRINTERS 

1909 

160564 



Copyright, 1909 

BY 

W. J. L. SULLIVAN 
Austin, Texas 



CONTENTS 



My Ancestry 1 

A Runaway 3 

Better Days. 8 

An Indian Raid 12 

A Thief 15 

Ben Hughes 17 

A Buffalo Hunt : 18 

A Stolen Herd 20 

Hanging of Bill Longley 25 

Capture of Henry Carothers 27 

An Exciting Fisticuff 33 

Waterspout at Quanah 37 

Five People Beg for Bread 39 

The Murder of Hartman 41 

Chase After Del Dean 47 

Capture of Morris, a Noted Murderer 49 

Arrest of Hollingsworth 53 

Capture of Mayes, Noted Horsethief 58 

Exciting Experiences 64 

Indians on the Warpath 72 

Opening of the Cheyenne and Arapahoe Strip 74 

A Cup and Saucer Event 76 

A Prisoner Escapes 77 

Capture of Rip Pearce 79 

Practical Joker Gets Into Trouble 81 

Race Thomas 83 

A Sad Farewell. 86 

Clever Thief is Caught 89 

The Gordon Train Robbery 98 

Surrender of Four Train Robbers 107 

Pursuit of Bill Cook and Jim Turner 113 

A Miserable Night 125 

Experiences with a Bear Skin Overcoat 127 

A Lively Chase 131 

Battle in the Dugout 144 

Exciting Experiences with Indians 155 



CONTENTS 

Arrest of Jerome Loftos 163 

Capture and Trial of Crump 167 

Capture of Ihart and Sprey 172 

Preventing a Prize Fight 178 

A Bank Robbery 182 

Call to Hartley 189 

On the Trail of Train Robbers 192 

The San Saba Mob 197 

A Bad Dog 201 

A Good Time Lost 205 

Fording the River 208 

Assault with Intent to Kiss 210 

Capture of Wax Lee 214 

The Cowboys Reunion 218 

Hidden Witnesses 222 

Hanging of Morrison 227 

A Prayer 230 

I Shoot Myself 234 

Call for Protection 240 

Unknown Victim of a Gun Fight 247 

POEMS 

A Last Farewell 261 

Texas Rangers After the Mob 255 

Cowboy's Hymn , 258 

Song Ballad of Dying Ranger 261 

The Old Cowboy of the Plains 263 

Sundry Letters to the Author 262-284 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Frontispiece 

Ranger Force at El Paso 16 

Cherokee Bill 32 

Captain Brooks and his Rangers 48 

Sullivan in 1896 64 

Sergeant Sullivan in Camp 80 

Bill Cook 112 

Two Ranger Boys 144 

"Skeeter" 160 

Ranger Camp on'San Saba River 192 

Marshall of Day at Cowboys Reunion 208 

At the Cowboys Reunion 224 

Wounded and imPeril 240 



PREFATORY 



In offering this book to the public, I have not 
undertaken to present a history of my life. I do 
not consider my life of enough importance to war- 
rant making a book about it. What I have un- 
dertaken to do is to tell some of the exciting 
experiences that have fallen to the lot of that 
noble band, the Texas Ranger force, of which I 
haxl the honor to be a member for twelve years. 
I had the leading part, it is true, in the incidents 
related, but the reader will see that I was not the 
whole show — there were others. I have prefixed 
some brief notes concerning my ancestry, and 
some incidents of my youth, and have followed 
with true accounts, written in my own plain way, 
of the principal events of my career as a Sergeant 
of the Rangers. 

I have introduced plates herein, made from 
photographs, showing the faces of some of the 
most noted criminals in the annals of Texas ; also 
photo illustrations of some of my dear comrades — 
all of them, in fact, that I could procure for this 
edition of my book. In a future edition, I will 
probably be able to add the likenesses of others. 

For valuable assistance in the preparation of 
these pages, I am indebted to numerous friends, 
who I will not enumerate by name, but whose 



kindness will ever be remembered by me. I solicit 
their continued help, and will appreciate sugges- 
tions that may be made by these and other friends 
and patriotic Texans in general, for use in a con- 
templated future edition of this work. 

With a respectful bow to my audience — the 
public — and a plea for their indulgence instead of 
their exacting criticism, I am, 

Very cordially, The Author, 

W. J. L. SULLIVAN. 



ERRATA 

Page 79, third line from bottom of first paragraph, should read 
"when I heard him make this remark," instead of "when I made 
him make this remark." 

Page 110, seventh line on the page, should read "Just after we 
entered the house," instead of "Just before we entered the house." 



MY ANCESTRY. 



My father, Tom Sullivan, was born and 
raised at No. 99 Broome Street, New York City, 
where he engaged in business as a master me- 
chanic. My grandfather, John Sullivan, was 
born in Ireland. He and my grandmother 
moved to New York City and settled on Broome 
Street, where my father, who was an only child, 
was born. My grandfather was a Mason by or- 
der and also by occupation. Just before my fa- 
ther's death my grandfather wrote him that he 
was coming to him to bring him fifteen hundred 
dollars that he had collected from the rents of 
my father's property, which was in the City of 
New York. He started out with the money, as 
he said he would, and has never been heard of 
up to seven years ago, when a bank book of his 
was found in a savings bank in New York. 

My father went to Perry County, Alabama, 
and met and married my mother, Summer Mc- 
Farlen, and they moved to Winston County, 
Mississippi, where my father engaged in farm- 
ing until his death. 



NOTICE 
Please do not write in this 
book or turn down the pages 



I 
A Runaway 

I was born in Winston County, Mississippi, on 
the 10th day of July, in 1851. My father had 
died seventy-nine days before my birth, leaving 
my mother with three other children besides me. 
Later on my mother married a Mr. Presley, of 
Leek County, and two children were born to them. 
My stepfather moved with us to Bradley County, 
Arkansas, where my mother died when I was but 
eight years of age. 

My stepfather married again. That left me, as 
it proved to be, in a bad predicament. I had no 
father nor mother, and my stepfather, after my 
mother's death, had married another woman. My 
only sister also married, and soon after that my 
brother, Tom, died, which left my other brother, 
Jim, and me to take care of ourselves as best we 
could. Our troubles had only begun, however, for 
in 1861 the Civil War broke out, and my stepfa- 
ther, Mr. Presley, and my brother-in-law went to 
the front, where both were killed, fighting for the 
cause of the Confederacy. When Presley went to 
the war he left Jim and me with his father-in-law, 
a Mr. Jeams. It was a cruel fate for us to meet. 
"Old man Jeams," as he was commonly called, was 
very hard on Jim and me. A merciless tyrant, 
with no feeling or principle, he beat us many times 
until we were so stunned and stupefied that we 
could not realize whether we were dead or alive. 
It is a terrible thing for poor, little, innocent chil- 



4 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

dren to fall into the tight, greedy clutches of such 
a man as this. 

Jeams was known all over that section of the 
country as a hard character, and the soldiers sta- 
tioned in that vicinity learned how brutal he was 
to my brother and me and paid him a visit one 
night, about two o'clock, to adjust matters with 
him with the aid of a new rope, which one of the 
men carried for convenience on the horn of his sad- 
dle. There were about twenty-five in the party, 
and they called Jeams out to the gate for an inter- 
view. One man in the squad, a Mr. Bloxom, had 
a greater grudge than the others against Jeams; 
for the latter had stolen a fine milk cow from Blox- 
om's widowed daughter, of which fact Bloxom had 
informed the others of the party. After getting 
Jeams out of the house, they asked him where the 
two little boys were, who lived with him. Jeams 
answered that they were in bed. They then told 
him to rouse us and bring us to the gate, which he 
promptly did. They asked us if we were living 
with "old man Jonathan Jeams. " We told them 
that we were. Then they asked us if our stepfa- 
ther and brother-in-law were not fighting in the 
war. We answered that they were. The soldiers 
then asked us if it was not true that Jeams beat 
and abused us a great deal. They immediately 
followed that question up with other inquiries as 
to the manner in which we were generally mis- 
treated by our stepfather's father-in-law. Brother 
Jim was afraid to tell them the truth, for fear his 
guardian would make it all the harder for him in 
the future, so he denied that he was mistreated, 
and said that Jeams was good to us. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 5 

I spoke up when Jim got through and told the 
soldiers that my brother was afraid to tell the 
truth; that Jeams whipped and abused us all the 
time, and that occasionally he would beat us nearly 
to death. Jim contradicted the things that I told 
them, but the soldiers said that if his story had cor- 
roborated mine, they would break Jeams' neck 
right there with their rope. This talk, however, 
frightened Jim all the more, and when they asked 
him again if "Old Jeams" wasn't making slaves of 
us, he vigorously denied it. They asked Jim if 
Jeams had stolen the cow that belonged to Blox- 
om's daughter, but Jim got further from the truth 
than ever, and denied that too. I knew that 
Jeams had stolen the cow and killed her for beef, 
and I told the soldiers that; but the statements 
that Jim and I had made were conflicting, and the 
soldiers would not hang him. 

They still believed Jeams to be guilty, however, 
and lectured him about an hour and a half before 
they let him go to bed. They told him they 
would watch him after that, and see that he con- 
ducted himself properly as long as he lived in that 
community. Jim and I went back to bed, but 
could sleep no more the rest of the night for think- 
ing over this exciting episode. 

If Jim had not been so frightened, and had borne 
me out in my statements, the soldiers would have 
hung Jeams, and from that hour we would have 
been entirely and forever free from that heartless 
tyrant; but, as it was, we lay in our bed the re- 
mainder of that eventful night, debating, in whis- 
ers, as to whether the soldiers' visit, since it re- 
sulted as it did, would make our life more pleasant 



6 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

or more miserable. Since Jeams had heard what 
I had to say to the soldiers, and since he was per- 
mitted to live on guard over me, I decided that he 
was going to make things even more disagreeable 
for me, if possible, than ever before; so I told my 
brother that I was going to make my escape the 
next day if I got a chance. 

I knew that the sooner I got off the better, so at 
twelve o'clock I bade my brother good-bye, 
climbed over the fence behind the barn, and hit 
the trail like a deer. I ran as swiftly as my legs 
could carry me, and jumped over logs and bushes 
to save the time it would take to go around them. 
A few times I looked back just long enough to see 
if I was being pursued; then I would run faster 
than ever on my way to Mr. Bloxom, the man 
whose daughter's cow was stolen by Jeams. I en- 
joyed the prospects of getting out of Jeams' reach. 
If I had not run away from him, he would have 
made a " ship- wreck" of me for telling the soldiers 
about his lawlessness. Soon I, myself, was to be 
with those soldiers, and to have their protection, 
and I was glad. 

When I reached Bloxom' s home he saluted me, 
and told me that I had done right, and asked me 
where my brother was. I told him that he was 
still in Jeams' hands. Bloxom then took occasion 
to remark that Jeams would have been a dead man, 
if my brother's story had not conflicted with the 
statements which I had made the night before. I 
asked Mr. Bloxom if he thought I could stay with 
the soldiers. He assured me that I could, and got 
his son, Tom, to saddle his horse and take me over 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 7 

to Carter's regiment. I rode behind Tom, and we 
reached the soldiers' camp some time after dark. 

Jeams guessed that I had gone to Bloxom' s and 
put my brother on a mule and sent him over there 
in search of me. Bloxom advised him to join me 
and stay with the army. Jim told him that he 
couldn't do that, as he had the "old man's" mule, 
and that he had to go back on that account. 
Bloxom sent the mule back to Jeams by a soldier, 
and some one conducted Jim to the regiment 
where I had gone, he reaching camp an hour or two 
after I did. Jim was afraid to run away, but felt 
mightily relieved when the soldiers took us with 
them and gave us their protection. 



8 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

II 
Better Days 

Never shall I forget the night that Brother and 
I reached the soldiers' camp, when we first joined 
Carter's regiment. Everything seemed very dif- 
ferent from what we were used to, but we felt eas- 
ier and more comfortable. We were not afraid 
that we would be jerked up at any moment and 
cuffed about and abused, as was Jeams' manner of 
treating us. The soldiers felt sorry for Jim and me 
and treated us as kindly as they could. Col. Gid- 
dings had charge of this regiment, and knowing the 
plight we were in told us that we could stay with 
his men as long as we wished. We were too young 
to fight, but we began to feel as if we were real sol- 
diers. Once, while we were with the regiment, the 
soldiers captured, somewhere on the Arkansas 
River, four hundred mules, one hundred and twen- 
ty-five or thirty wagons, and several Yankees. At 
another place, we captured about three hundred 
beeves. 

We had been with the regiment about fifteen 
months, when three of the soldiers, Trave Burton, 
Bill Henley and Leonard Burns, got furloughs to 
go home. This was about two months before the 
close of the war. The three men asked Brother 
Jim and me to go home with them. We accepted 
their kind invitation, and with them left the army. 
For a little while I lived with Leonard Burns, and 
James stayed with Trave Burton. Later on, how- 
ever, we got together, and both of us lived with Mr. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 9 

and Mrs. Bill Henley, with whom we stayed for a 
number of years, not leaving them until we were 
about grown. 

Mr. and Mrs. Henley were like father and mother 
to James and me. I never knew before what it was 
to be in such a good home. It seemed a paradise 
to me, who had been left an orphan boy, unpro- 
tected, and at the mercy of rough, careless, unfeel- 
ing people, and I could well appreciate my new sur- 
roundings. It is sad for little children to be left 
without a father and mother to take care of them, 
and when poor, little orphans endure what James 
and I had to bear, they should be very thankful 
when they are placed in a good home, as we were. 
God pity the orphan children of this world, and 
may He bless the kind-hearted people who take 
them in and raise them to become useful men and 
women. 

Mr. and Mrs. Henley always taught and encour- 
aged us to be honest and industrious, and to have 
a proper regard for the law. Through respect for 
their memory, and because I owed it to myself and 
to my own father and mother who died in my in- 
fancy, I always lived up to those teachings. Since 
I have served the people of Texas as a ranger and 
dealt with numerous criminals, I have learned 
through personal observation, the wisdom of the 
teachings of those good old people. The world is 
full of tragedies, and, having been a state officer 
for over twelve years, I have witnessed many 
of them myself. Many criminals have brought 
shame, misery and trouble upon themselves, their 
families and their friends, because they started out 
in their youth with no respect for the laws of God 



10 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

and man. In the following chapters I shall tell 
you the tragic story of dozens of criminals who 
wound up their careers in the penitentiary — or, in 
a few instances, at the rope's end. 

In some cases the men had no parents, while 
children, to care for them, nor any one else to 
teach them how to become honest, upright and 
useful. In other cases, however, they were men 
who had parents, but, while young and "smart," 
had disregarded the teachings of their elders, and, 
later on, had flagrantly violated the laws of their 
country, until they were finally locked within the 
four walls of a penitentiary, their liberty gone, and 
themselves disgraced and despised. They are left 
in dark, lonely cells to brood day and night over 
their unhappy fate, and to realize the folly of their 
former misbehavior. 

I have encountered many men who appeared, at 
first sight, to be good, but who were really tough 
characters, and who, unfortunaltey, possessed 
much influence for evil over their companions. 
Thus, young people should be very careful with 
whom they associate. I have, also, seen men in 
good circumstances disobey the law for some ma- 
terial acquisition, and lose whatever they had 
thereby gained, together with all they ever pos- 
sessed before, trying to stave off the prosecution; 
and they were fortunate, even at that, if they are 
not finally sent to the penitentiary. With these 
impressive lessons before me, and because I ever 
wanted to do my duty and be honest, thereby 
gaining my own self-respect, I always tried to do 
what I thought was right, and I respected and 
obeyed the laws of my country. Once or twice, 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 11 

when I was young, I laid wagers with money, and 
several times I drank whiskey ; but I soon saw the 
folly in these, the only vicious habits that I ever 
started, and nipped them in the bud. For twelve 
years my business took me into the worst saloons, 
gambling dens, and low dives in Texas, but I al- 
ways managed to keep from falling into the habits 
of the people whom I encountered in these places. 
I am getting old now, and, as people usually do 
in their declining years, I spend many of my idle 
hours in meditation, thinking ever of the incidents 
of my past life ; and, while thus reviewing my rec- 
ord as an officer and an honest citizen, I am re- 
warded with the only genuine happiness and satis- 
faction that man can experience whild, with totter- 
ing footsteps, he is nearing the gateway through 
which he passes into the unknown world beyond. 



12 Twelve Years in the Saddle. ■ 

III 

An Indian Raid 

In 1871 I joined a party of cattlemen who were 
on their way to Ellsworth, Kansas, to which place 
they were driving three thousand head of cattle, 
which belonged to Tom Pullman and a Mr. Mat- 
thews. These two gentlemen owned three more 
herds of beeves, with about three thousand head 
to a herd. 

We were traveling on the Tom Chism Trail, 
which led to Smoky River. This was in the early 
days, before there were any railroads to amount to 
anything in Texas, and cattle had to be driven all 
the way to Kansas across country. 

The Tom Chism Trail was always lined all the 
way from Texas to Kansas. It was a great sight 
to see so many cattle driven on this trail, all bound 
for the same market. One could look forward or 
backward and not be able to see the end of the 
long string of cattle. 

I was just a young man then, and went along to 
help drive this herd of cattle to market. I en- 
joyed the trip very much, as the scenery was beau- 
tiful and camping out was delightful for us cow- 
boys. 

The grass all along the route was as fine as it 
could be, and kept the cattle reasonably fat, con- 
sidering the long journey, and when they reached 
their destination it would only take a few days 
rest to get them in perfect condition. 

Those were great days in Texas, when money 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 13 

was plentiful and wages good. We received splen- 
did pay for driving cattle and the work was most 
enjoyable. Game was plentiful all the way from 
Texas to Kansas. The country was full of elk, 
buffalo, antelope and deer, and we always had 
plenty of venison to eat, after our appetites were 
sharpened from a day's riding in the saddle. 

We had our cattle bedded near the Canadian 
River one rainy night, and Tom Murphy, of Austin, 
and I were guarding them. At twelve o'clock 
that night about fifteen Indians made a sudden 
raid on the cattle and stampeded them. The cat- 
tle and horses were very much frightened and 
scattered in every direction. All the cowboys 
came to our rescue. 

The first dash the Indians made they cut off 
about seventy-five cattle from the herd. The 
other cattle then ran about two miles and a half 
in a circle before they "broke the mill." 

I was on my saddle when the Indians made the 
raid, but I was nodding. My horse, however, in- 
stantly realized the situation and made a spring 
forward, throwing me behind the saddle before I 
roused myself sufficiently to know what the trou- 
ble was. It happened, however, that I succeeded 
in grabbing the horn of my saddle, and I finally 
managed to regain my proper position. 

It was impossible to control the cattle, as the 
Indians had so badly frightened them. All of 
them got away from us that night except fifty 
head, and it took us two weeks to gather them all 
up, as they scattered for miles over the country. 
When we got them rounded up we took them 



14 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

on to Kansas without further trouble and sold 
them. 

The Indians captured in their raid on our herd 
about one hundred head of cattle in all, and I 
imagine they had quite a feast. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 15 

IV 

A Thief 

While I was in Quanah, in 1896, helping to hold 
court in the George Isaacs case, four hundred beef 
steers were brought into town one day from the 
Spur ranch. Eighteen cowboys came in with the 
cattle, and before they left town one of them stole 
a suit of clothes and a gold watch from a Mr. Great- 
house, a merchant of Quanah. Bob Dawson came 
to me while I was in court helping to guard Isaacs 
and told me that he wanted me to assist them in 
running down the thief. I told him that I would; 
so we got our horses and started out after the cow- 
boys. 

We followed them fifteen miles to a place where 
they had stopped for dinner, and we arrested them 
and told them that we wanted to search the whole 
outfit for the clothes and watch. 

They said, "all right/' and we made the search 
and found the stolen articles; so we took the boss 
out and told him that he had better advise the 
guilty party to "own up," or we would have to 
take the whole bunch back to town. He failed to 
get a confession from any of them, so we arrested 
the whole bunch, boss and all, and escorted them 
to Quanah. 

In the party there was one man, who weighed 
about 260 pounds, who kept edging around me, 
trying to get hold of my sixshooter, but I stood 
him off, and we made him hitch up the wagon and 
take the others back to Quanah. They had a hun- 



16 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

dred head of cow ponies, and they took them back 
with them. When we marched into Quanah with 
the men and ponies, everybody yelled out, " Yon- 
der comes Coxey's army." 

About dark one of the men, by the name of 
Sloane, plead guilty. His brother had begged him 
to confess, which he did. He was lodged in the 
Quanah jail, and was charged with stealing enough 
property to land him in the penitentiary, but the 
state made it a finable offense, and his companions 
paid it out and they left together for their ranch, 
a happy set of cowboys. 



8 3 



** o 

o < 




Twelve Years in the Saddle. IT 

V 

Ben Hughes 

While trying to capture Ben Hughes, who was 
wanted for train robbery in the Indian Territory, 
the officers had a fierce battle with him, during 
which Deputy Sheriff Whitehead, who was a Cher- 
okee Indian, was killed. Hughes was tried for 
this, but was acquitted, as the killing occurred at 
night and no one saw him shoot Whitehead, and it 
could not be proven that he was responsible for the 
officer's death. 

I carried Ben Hughes' wife from the Union de- 
pot in Fort Worth to the Windsor Hotel, with in- 
structions from Grude Britton, who was sergeant 
at that time, to make a thorough search for money. 
Mrs. Windsor, the proprietress of the hotel, as- 
sisted me in making the search on Mrs. Hughes' 
person for the money which we thought her hus- 
band had gotten and turned over to her. I got 
Mrs. Windsor to help me in searching the woman, 
because I felt a delicacy in making a search on the 
person of a lady. I had the respect for her that 
any gentleman should have for a lady, even if I 
was searching her for stolen money. I only found 
about twelve or fifteen dollars on her, and she said 
that was her own money; so I let her keep it. Mrs. 
Hughes looked to be about twenty-five years of 
age. 

Sam Farmer and Sergeant J. M. Britton took 
Hughes to Dallas and placed him in jail, and Mrs. 
Hughes left that evening for Palo Pinto County. 



18 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

m 

VI 
A Buffalo Hunt 

E. N. Waldrup, Bob Gunn and I left Logan's 
Gap, Comanche County, February, 1877, for Tom 
Green County on a big buffalo hunt, intending to 
make Jim Criner's ranch our headquarters. Criner 
was a brother-in-law of Bob Gunn. 

After reaching Tom Green County, I saw about 
a mile ahead of me a bunch of buffalo, and re- 
marked to one of the boys that I was going to rope 
one of them. I dismounted, tightened my saddle 
girths, and mounted again and made for the bunch 
of buffalo. They were traveling east. The morn- 
ing was very cold, as the wind was blowing from 
the east. As soon as they discovered me they 
started in a run for their life. There were about 
one hundred and fifty in the bunch. I ran on to 
a three-year old bull, threw my lariat, but it failed 
to catch, as I was throwing against the wind, 
which was very high. The second throw I put 
him into my loop. The high, fast bucking and 
pulling came off then and there. Birch, my horse, 
was not thoroughly trained and didn't like the 
scent of buffalo at all. I had a hard time con- 
trolling him with this raging, rearing beast tied to 
the horn of my saddle, as this was about the first 
bunch of buffalo Birch had ever seen, and the only 
one he had ever been tied to. Birch and I were 
like the man that bought the elephant — didn't 
hardly know what to do with him. I made two 
runs around the buffalo and got his legs tangled 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 19 

in my lariat. I then made a straight run on him, 
" busting' ' him against the ground. When he got 
up he discovered our horses and wagons and took 
the outfit for his brother bunch of buffalo. He 
then made a run for horses and wagon, and when 
we got to the wagon I decided to take him to Jim 
Criner's ranch, which was about ten or twelve 
miles distant, and neck him to a steer. I tied him 
to the hind axle of the wagon, and he led as docile 
as any horse for about three hundred yards, and 
all at once he took a notion to stop, and the horses 
pulling the wagon took a notion to stop also. We 
started the horses up again, and they kept pulling 
until they led him over, at the same time jerking 
his right shoulder out of place. I had him to kill 
then, and lost my buffalo. This was a grand old 
hunt, and proved very profitable to us. The buf- 
falo in that country were as thick as cattle and 
went from three to ten thousand in a bunch. 
There were also thousands of antelope, and wild 
turkeys were so thick that^they would hardly get 
out of one's way. 



20 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

VII 

A Stolen Herd 

I was employed, in 1877, by Bill Yoakum, a cat- 
tleman, to help him drive a herd of three hundred 
cattle from his place in Comanche County to Clear 
Fork, on the Brazos River. While in his service, 
Yoakum told me that he and Jim Gregg, who was 
Yoakum's partner for several years, had stolen 
these cattle and burnt their brands out and put on 
another brand. He told me that he had stolen 
the cattle out of Tarrant, Johnson, Collins and 
other counties, and that he never took over five 
head out of the same range. He also said that he 
had made it a rule to steal only from men who 
were no able to prosecute him heavily if he was 
caught. 

One day Yoakum asked me to join him, saying 
that we would make a fortune stealing cattle, but 
I told him that I w o u 1 d let him know about it 
later on. 

Near Yoakum's place lived a Mrs. Holt, a widow, 
who had bought a milk cow from Yoakum, paying 
him a good price for it. Yoakum laughingly re- 
marked to me one day that he had stolen the cow 
which he had sold to Mrs. Holt from her range 
and that she didn't know the difference. 

I said to myself, "You two dirty thieves" (mean- 
ing Yoakum and his partner, Gregg), "if I can 
catch you I certainly will do so." After that I 
kept my eyes open and watched Yoakum very 
closely. Whenever I managed to get off to my- 



Twelve Years ix the Saddle. 21 

self, I walked around the herd and took down the 
brands of these three hundred cattle that had been 
stolen from different parties throughout the State. 

After procuring sufficient evidence to show that 
they had stolen the cattle, I went to Brackenridge 
and informed the sheriff of these facts, and he and 
I went to the office of the justice of the peace, where 
I swore out warrants for the arrest of Yoakum and 
Gregg. 

The sheriff sent his deputy, Frank Freeman, 
with me to make the arrest, and we reached the 
herd late in the evening. Gregg was with the 
herd, grazing cattle in a mesquite flat, when we 
found him, and we arrested him first. Turning 
my head toward the wagon, I saw Mrs. Yoakum 
standing on the wagon tongue motioning her hus- 
band to run, which he did. Freeman and I im- 
mediately placed Gregg in the charge of other offi- 
cers who had come along, and set out in pursuit of 
Yoakum. Yoakum was riding a fast saddle mule, 
but was caught by Freeman and I, and we brought 
him back to where the other men were. 

While the deputy sheriff was reading the war- 
rant to Yoakum, the latter, being angered at me, 
suddenly made a play for his sixshooter to kill me, 
but I was too quick* for him, and blocked his game. 
Several mefr who watched -u's arrest Yoakum and 
Gregg were in sympathy with them, and claimed 
that 'Yoakum did not try to draw, a gun on me. 
The deputy/- sheriff,, bei^g, busy* /reading the war- 
rant, did" not ,:»ee Yoakum's movements, so he 
could not say whether I was right or wrong in at- 
tacking Yoakum. Old Man Wilson (W. R.) 
seemed to be the u w6rst stuck" on Yoakum, and 



22 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

I thought for quite a while that I would have 
him to kill, but he eventually quieted down. 

I ate no supper that night, nor breakfast the 
next morning, and drank nothing but a little wa- 
ter out of a creek. The following morning we 
started back to Brackenridge, taking our two pris- 
oners to jail. Mrs. Yoakum accompanied us to 
town. 

When we reached the town, Old Man Wilson, 
the great friend of Yoakum, swore out a warrant 
for me, charging me with assault upon Yoakum. 
They wanted to arrange it so that I couldn't be in 
Brownwood to appear against Yoakum when the 
trial came off, but Freeman held himself responsi- 
ble for me, and in that way blocked their game. 

We left the next morning for Brownwood. 
Frank Freeman and I rode along together, and 
while discussing various subjects to pass away the 
time we accidently learned that we were distant 
relatives. That probably accounts for Frank being 
so nice to me and afterward showing me so many 
favors. 

While we were in Brackenridge, Yoakum and 
Gregg employed Attorney Webb to defend them. 
That night, when we reached camp, Yoakum asked 
the deputy sheriff if he could talk* to me and, being- 
told that he could, he took 'me off a few yards to 
make me a proposition. He told me that if I 
would not appear against him he would go to 
Brownwood and be>t that one case and leave the 
country with his stock: v 

"I can not afford to do it"/' 1 said, "for such 
characters as you should be in the penitentiary.' 7 

He then went back to the wagon, and Freeman 



Twelve Yeaks ix the Saddle. 23 

called me off and asked me what Yoakum had told 
me, and I repeated the proposition that Yoakum 
had made to me. 

" Those men who went out to help arrest 
Yoakum and Gregg are undoubtedly thieves and 
thugs themselves from the way they worked 
against you/' said Frank, "and it might be best 
for you not to go back to Brackenridge, for you 
will be alone up there since no one knows you ex- 
cept me, and those tough characters might kill you. 
I know them too well/' he continued, "and I am 
satisfied that Yoakum made a break for his gun, 
but his friends will swear that he didn't, and that 
will cause lots of trouble." Frank then told me 
that he being responsible for me, he could manage 
it for me if I wanted to get loose. 

I told him that I thought it best for me to leave 
and not go back to Brackenridge ; so I left that 
night for my former home. 

Yoakum succeeded in beating his case through 
a "slick" scheme of his attorney. Webb and his 
clients worked on Mrs. Holt and won her over to 
their side. Yoakum bought Mrs. Holt's cow back, 
and Mrs. Holt swore in court that that was not her 
cow, and the indictments were quashed. I learned 
afterward that Mrs. Holt went over to Brownwood 
in the wagon with Mrs. Yoakum, and it nearly 
made me lose confidence in the fair sex. 

In accordance with his promise to me, Frank 
Freeman advertised the brands of the stolen cattle, 
and cattlemen came from several parts of the State 
and claimed their property. 

If I had been easily persuaded, as a great many 



24 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

young, unfortunate boys are, to join those cattle 
thieves in their theft of cattle, I would, most 
likely, have been found later hanging at the end 
of a rope, or serving a long sentence in the peni- 
tentiary. 



Tavelve Years in the Saddle. 25 

VIII 
The Hanging of Bill Longly. 

On the 11th of October, 1879, I witnessed the 
execution of Bill Longly, who was hung at Gid- 
dings, Lee County, for the murder of Wilson An- 
derson. The sheriff, Jim Brown, who had charge 
of the execution, was the noted horse-racer who 
was afterward killed in Chicago by a policeman. 

A little while before the execution the sheriff 
read the death sentence to Bill, and, pointing to 
his two hundred guards, he told the people that he 
had worked three months selecting his men for the 
occasion, and that he thought he had about the 
best there was in the country to assist him in the 
execution. He then asked Bill if he wanted to 
make a talk. Bill said he did, and pulled his hat 
off and placed it in a chair. Then, looking calmly 
over the crowd, he addressed the guards and spec- 
tators as follows: 

"This is a big crowd to witness the last of me. I 
know I am surrounded by enemies, but I forgive 
them for all that they have done against me, and 
I want them, as well as my friends, to pray for me." 
Then, continuing, he said, "I understand that my 
brother, Jim, was in here to kill the man who cuts 
the rope to hang me. If you are in this crowd, 
Jim, don't kill anybody on my account. I knew 
that if I was ever caught I would have to pay the 
penalty which I am now paying. I hate to die, 
but I have killed many a man who hated to die as 



26 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

bad as I do now, so I know I am getting my just 
deserts. " 

When Bill finished his harangue he knelt be- 
tween two priests. He had been confined in the 
jail at Galveston for eighteen months, and while 
there he had become a Catholic. Each priest put 
his hand on the man's head, and they knelt to- 
gether in prayer for several minutes. When he 
arose he walked straight to the trap-door and, 
bowing to the crowd, said: 

"Good-bye to everybody." 

The sheriff immediately placed the cap over his 
head, the rope around his neck, and bound his 
hands and feet. Then he got the hatchet and cut 
the rope. The trap-door swung back, Bill fell 
through, and his neck was broken. 

Mrs. Anderson, the widow of the man whom 
Longly had murdered, was present at the execu- 
tion with her two children. When the doctors pro- 
nounced Bill to be dead, she remarked that she was 
satisfied. 

Then they let him down and placed him in his 
coffin. The rope was coiled and laid on his breast, 
and the lid of his coffin screwed securely on. A 
sorrowful father then took charge of the remains 
of his former wayward son. 

BilPs cousins had given him a nice suit, and he 
was neatly dressed. Young and fine-looking, with 
dark hair and long black mustache, and with a 
complexion as fair as a lady's, he looked so hand- 
some before his death that it seemed a pity for him 
to die in such a terrible and unnatural manner. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 27 

IX 

The Capture of Henry Carothers. 

In 1879, John Presall, a Pinkerton detective, 
told me that he had traced Henry Carothers to the 
San Bernard River, and that he wanted me and 
several others to help capture him. Carothers is 
the man who killed a Mr. Kirk, a prominent man 
of McDade. 

With Willis McMaron and Albert Rosenberg, I 
immediately left Burton, on my way to join Pres- 
all. We traveled all Saturday night and reached 
the San Bernard River at daybreak on Sunday 
morning. There we met Presall, who had sum- 
moned us, and Sheriff Lewis, of Austin County, 
Charley Langhammer, John Collar, Bob Flack, 
Fritz Rosenberg and John Rankin. We all started 
out immediately in search of Henry Carothers. 

Presall had learned that he was hunting on the 
San Bernard River. Late that evening we learned 
from two Swede boys where Car other's camp was 
located. We immediately struck out for the 
place, but when we reached the camp we found no 
one in it, although we saw signs which indicated 
that some parties had left only a little while before. 

We lit on their trail and loped our horses nine 
miles through a country full of nothing but post 
oaks and rocks. About half a mile from the little 
town of New Ulm, John Presall said that he and 
Sheriff Lewis and Charley Langhammer would go 
ahead, and for us six men to stay about a quarter 
of a mile in the rear. 



28 Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 

A little while after the three men left us we saw, 
about a quarter of a mile down the road, a wagon 
with some men in it. Willis McMaron and I had 
ridden about two hundred yards ahead of the other 
four, much to their chagrin, and when Presall, 
Lewis and Langhammer passed the wagon they 
discovered that Henry Carothers and his father 
and two others were in it. When they passed 
them, the officers heard old man Carothers say, in 
a low tone to his son, " Henry, you know what you 
have always said/' The officers then looked back 
and, seeing Henry Carothers and his father reach- 
ing for their guns, quickly dropped off their horses. 

Henry Carothers leaped out with his Winchester 
and stationed himself behind the rear part of the 
wagon. His father took a shotgun and jumped 
over into a field to get behind a fence. When Mc- 
Maron and I saw these movements, we knew that 
that was Henry Carothers and his father, so we 
laid steel to our horses and rode quickly to the res- 
cue of the three officers in front of us. 

Two of the men whom we had left behind, John 
Collar and John Rankin, tore down the fence and 
rode into the field where old man Carothers had 
stationed himself. When the old man saw us sur- 
rounding them he called out to his son to fire on 
the front men. 

Tom Gentry, a friend of the two Carothers, and 
a yellow negro, whose name was Guish, were in 
the wagon. Guish had always promised "Marse 
Henry" that if the officers ever attacked them he 
would certainly stay and fight until he was killed. 
When Henry and his father showed fight Guish at 
once left the wagon as if he had wings. He jumped 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 29 

over the fence into the field, and for a mile and a 
half he could not be seen for cotton flying thick 
around him as he was leaving "Marse Henry." 
This affair happened about six o'clock in the even- 
ing, and the negro ran all the way to Burton, a dis- 
tance of thirty-five miles, reaching his home at four 
o'clock the next morning. 

Tom Gentry crawled through the fence and went 
to Mr. Carothers and plead with him not to advise 
his son to fight, saying that neither one of them had 
any chance for their lives. The old man paid no 
attention to him, however, but called out again to 
his son to fire on the front men. "You and I are 
good for two men apiece," he told Henry, "and it 
will never do for you to surrender." 

Henry then laid his Winchester down and picked 
up Gentry's shotgun, and told Gentry that he was 
going to "initiate" his gun by using it first. Gen- 
try then told Henry, "for God's sake do not fight 
when you have no chance on earth to win." 

Henry then recognized Charley Langhammer, 
the officer in front who used to be sheriff of Austin 
County, and who tried hard to capture him when 
he first committed the terrible murder. Henry 
had always "had it in" for Charley, so he invited 
him to come out from behind his horse and they 
would take a few shots at each other. Charley 
started out, but Sheriff Lewis called him back and 
told Henry that if he challenged anyone else to 
fight him he would order his men to fire on him 
immediately. 

Henry then asked Lewis how many men he had 
with him. 



30 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Lewis replied that he had nine and they were all 
officers. 

He then asked Lewis if any of the Bells were 
along. 

Lewis answered that they were not. 

The Bells were kin to Kirk, the murdered man, 
and Henry dreaded them. 

Lewis then told him that if he surrendered the 
officers would protect him and that he would not 
be hurt. 

Finally, Henry turned to his father and said, "I 
have a wife and two children, and you have a wife 
and six children to live for and if we both get 
killed in this fight they will be left without protec- 
tion, so if you will keep out of this fight and let me 
make it myself I will not give up, but if you don't 
let me fight it out myself I will surrender." 

The old man would not consent to surrender, 
and said that he wanted to fight it out, whereupon 
Henry laid his Winchester down, climbed into the 
wagon, and standing on the seat, said: 

" Gentlemen, I have surrendered." 

We had a bench warrant for him from the gov- 
ernor, so we handcuffed him and shackled him on 
his horse, which we had procured at New Elm. 

Bob Flack and John Rankin took turns about 
leading the horse on which the prisoner was 
mounted, but Henry cursed and abused them so, 
that they tried to shove the job off on me, but I 
didn't take it, as I didn't relish being abused any 
more than they did. I told Henry it wouldn't 
help his case a bit for him to abuse the officers, but 
it seemed to afford him pleasure and consolation, 
and he kept on cursing everybody around him. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 31 

He told Bob Flack he would give him a thousand 
dollars if he would arrange it so he could make his 
escape. 

Bob refused the offer , of course, and Henry asked 
him how many men it would require to take him 
away from the officers. 

Bob told him that he could no be taken; that 
they would all die before they would give him up. 

Henry then informed us that if his brother-in- 
law, John Williams, happened to find out that he 
was captured, that he would gather a band of men 
and take him from the officers and set him free. 

At midnight, as we were entering a long lane, we 
heard a signal at our left on the prairie, and Henry 
said that that must be Williams and his men. 

As soon as we heard the signal, the advance 
guard saw a light further up the lane. I was then 
leading Henry's horse, and Presall, the detective, 
who was at my side, gave me instructions to shoot 
Henry and cut his horse's rope from my saddle if 
Williams' men should try to take him away from 
us. Presall then said that we would all try to win 
the fight if we were to have an encounter with Will- 
iams and his men; so all of us prepared ourselves 
for any emergency that might occur. 

Turning to Henry, I said, "If this is Williams 
and his bunch, it will go awful hard with you." 

I think Henry heard Presall' s instructions, for 
he seemed rather frightened, and, believing 
strongly that it was Williams and his men up the 
lane, he called out to Williams, but received no 
answer. 

We held up, and sent the advance guard for- 
ward to see who those men were whom we had 



32 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

heard. They came back in a little while and re- 
ported that they were a band of cattlemen, and 
that the signal which we heard to our left came 
from the cowboys at the herd. 

We then resumed our journey, and when we 
passed these supposed u cattlemen" they lined up 
on the right side of the lane and held their six- 
» shooters and Winchesters ready for action. I am 
satisfied that they were a bunch of thieves expect- 
ing to be taken by the officers, or they would not 
have been so well prepared to fight as they were. 

We reached Round Top at daybreak, and placed 
Henry in the calaboose and put two men to guard- 
ing him. Then we slept until breakfast at John 
Rankin's house. 

When we put Henry in the calaboose we 
shackled him securely, as we knew he would make 
his escape if he had half a chance, for he was in a 
desperate mood and was a shrewd and daring man. 
The shackles, which we put on him, were fastened 
underneath the floor to a sleeper and were not 
movable. He filled the keyholes of his shackles 
with small shot, in order to give us all the trouble 
he possibly could, and when we transferred him, 
we were detained a long time getting the shot out 
of the keyholes. 

We took him to La Grange. He was tried later 
on at Bastrop and given, a sentence of life impris- 
onment in the penitentiary, but was pardoned out 
by the governor after he had served six years of his 
term. I met him after he was given his freedom, 
and he was very friendly with me, and, as he was 
making a splendid citizen, I welcomed his friend- 
ship, and told him I was glad to see him a free man 
and doing well. 



' '""'"■ " .-.....■ 




"CHEROKEE BILL" 

The most noted Outlaw of the Territory. 

Hung at Ft. Smith, Ark. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 33 

X 

An Exciting Fisticuff 

Col. R. D. Hunter wrote to Capt. S. A. McMur- 
ray of our company, asking him to let me have a 
leave of absence to go to Thurber to attend to some 
anarchists and dynamiters, who were giving the 
officials a lot of trouble at the mine. He said, in 
his letter to Capt. McMurray, that he would give 
me a hundred dollars a month to act as an officer 
for the company and rid the mine of these char- 
acters. 

The captain showed me the letter and asked me 
if I thought I could do the work. I told him that 
I was perfectly confident that I could. He then 
asked me if I wanted to go and try it, and I told 
him that that hundred dollars looked mighty good 
to me. He gave me permission to go, and I left 
on the next train for Thurber, and reached there 
as quickly as possible and made a contract with 
Hunter to do the work which he had mapped out 
for me. I remained in the employ of the coal com- 
pany eight months. 

One night, about twelve o'clock, I located thir- 
teen anarchists in one bunch, hidden in a little 
dark corner, planning to dynamite the mine the 
following night. I had two men with me, and we 
crawled up close enough to hear every word that 
these anarchists said. When they had perfected 
their plans and stopped their discussion, we ar- 
rested the whole bunch and jailed them. 

A saloon was run at the mines by Tom Lawson, 



34 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

who had a ten-year lease on the building. Lawson 
also owned a fourth interest in the mine, but he and 
Col. Hunter, the president, had a falling out for 
some cause, and Lawson got to standing in with 
the tough element. 

One night I heard a pistol shot in the saloon and 
ran in there to investigate, believing that some- 
body had been killed. When I reached the in- 
side, I learned that Lawson, who was behind the 
bar drunk, had shot at a miner, but failed to hit 
him. This was on pay night and everybody was 
full of beer and whiskey, and I had already filled 
the calaboose with drunken men. 

I decided to arrest Lawson and put him in with 
the other men, but when I advanced on him he 
made a play for his sixshooter, but I fell squarely 
on top of him with my gun, removing enough skin 
from his head to half-sole a number 10 shoe. He 
swore that he would not be locked up, but I put 
him in the calaboose, all the same, and he was 
made to pay his fine as any other man. 

After paying his fine, Lawson left immediately 
to report me to Capt. McMurray. Col. Hunter 
saw Lawson in Fort Worth looking for McMurray 
and wired me about it, saying that he (Hunter) 
would stand between me and all danger. 

About two weeks after that Capt. McMurray 
came to Thurber and told me that he understood 
that I had knocked Lawson in the head, and that 
he wanted to know the cause of it. 

I told him that Lawson was disturbing the peace 
and that he had shot at a miner, and when I tried 
to arrest him he attempted to draw a gun on me, 
and that I hit him with my sixshooter instead of 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 35 

shooting him with it. "I disarmed him and put 
him in jail," I continued, and my captain replied 
that I ought to have broken his neck. 

About two months after that, Lawson and his 
bartender, Malcom, and Col. Hunter, all three met 
in a drug store. Hunter and Lawson began curs- 
ing each other, and I heard the row and rushed 
into the store just in time to see Hunter burst the 
bottom of a spittoon out over Tom Lawson' s head. 
Hunter then threw a box of cigars at him, striking 
Lawson in the ear and scattering cigars all over the 
floor. I noticed Malcom slipping up behind Col. 
Hunter, preparing to hit him in the back of the 
head. Just as he started to strike Hunter, how- 
ever, I struck Malcom myself, in time to stop what 
would have been a dreadful blow. Malcom whirled 
around and saw that it was I who hit him. I 
struck him five times in the face, but he did noth- 
ing but back off the gallery. I struck him once 
again when he reached the outside and kicked him 
off the gallery. I thought I had him whipped, but 
when he got up he said he would fight me if I would 
pull my sixshooter off. He was a stout man and 
weighed about 230 pounds, but I was not afraid of 
him. I removed my sixshooter and threw it over 
to Henry Kronk, the druggist, and told him to 
look out for it. I then pitched into Malcom again, 
striking him in the face. He suddenly threw his 
big arm around my neck and pressed my head 
aganist his body. I could not get my head free 
without breaking my neck, and, having the ad- 
vantage of me in that respect, he commenced 
beating my head, nose and eyes until my face 
looked like jelly. I do not know what would have 



36 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

become of my face if Bob Ward, the company's 
lawyer, had not come to my rescue. Ward knocked 
Malcom loose from me and knocked him twelve 
feet from where we were clinched. Tom Lawson 
then knocked Ward down, he falling on top of Mal- 
com. Hunter was pacing around after Lawson 
with a heavy rock, but never did get in his lick. 

When a carpenter, who was working near by, 
saw the dangerous position that I was in when 
Malcom had me clinched, he ran to my rescue with 
a hatchet in his hand. He was frightened and as 
pale as death, and he intended to cut Malcom loose 
with his hatchet, but Ward got in ahead of him and 
did the work for him. 

My face was in a terrible fix, and the doctor put 
a beef steak on it to draw the blood out of the 
bruised places. My face was so badly bruised and 
swollen that one could hardly tell where my eyes 
and nose were. I had a girl then, whom I was 
loving very dearly, and I could not go to see her 
for a long time, on account of the sad condition of 
my complexion. I shunned her everywhere for 
quite a while; for I well knew that it would never 
do to let "Betty" see me in that fix. 

I went to the justice of peace the next morning 
after the fight and paid my fine, which amounted 
to twelve dollars. The money was paid back to 
me by Col. Hunter. Hunter, Ward, Malcom and 
Lawson all fought their cases hard, but it cost 
them about two hundred dollars apiece before they 
were through, while the fight only cost me twelve 
dollars, and the money was refunded to me. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 37 

XI 

Waterspout at Quanah 

On the fourth day of June, 1891, one of the hard- 
est rains that I ever experienced began falling in 
Quanah at noon, and lasted all the afternoon and 
throughout that night. I knew that the rain was 
going to do lots of damage if it kept up, so I re- 
solved to go down to the railroad bridge before the 
north-bound passenger train arrived to see if the 
dam was in good condition. 

I held my watch in my hand, and when it was 
nearly time for the train to arrive I walked down 
to the bridge, where the passenger was to cross. I 
stood near the railroad tank until the train came 
in, but it was raining so hard that I could not see 
the smoke from the engine as the train came down 
the track. 

The passenger arrived on time, and stopped on 
the east side of the tank to take water, while I was 
on the west side examining the dam. I soon saw 
that the dam was giving away, so I waded into the 
tank and attracted the attention of the engineer. 
He could not hear what I was saying, so he left his 
engine and waded in the tank close enough to me 
to understand what I had to say. I told him that 
the dam was breaking, but he did not see any signs 
of it from where he was, and, thinking that I was 
unduly excited, he decided that I was mistaken, 
and, going back to his engine, he reversed the 
throttle and prepared to cross the bridge. About 
that time the dam broke and was swiftly washed 



38 Twelve Years ix the -Saddle. 

away to the other side. The engineer stopped his 
engine just in time to save the train from going 
across the dam and being thrown overboard. 
Nearly four hundred passengers, including many 
women and children, were on the train, and they 
seemed to be very grateful to me for the part that 
I played in saving their lives. The train crew 
were also thankful that they did not get any fur- 
ther than they did before the accident occurred. 

When the dam broke, the railroad bridges, the 
county bridge, two or three houses, and a number 
of windmills were all washed away. Several other 
rivers in that part of the state got on a rampage, 
and quite a number of county and railroad bridges, 
besides those around Quanah, were destroyed. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 39 

XII 

Five People Beg for Food 

While doing duty as a policeman in the State 
Capitol building in Austin, in 1903, I boarded at 
the Capitol Hotel. 

One cold, rainy day I left the table, after eating 
my dinner, and discovered two ladies and three 
children standing at the screen door on the outside. 
I asked them what they wanted, and they said 
they had sent a little boy in there with a note ask- 
ing for money enough to get dinner for all five of 
them. They said they were " awful hungry." 

The little boy came out in a minute, and said he 
had seen all those men in the dining room, but they 
would not give him a cent. The little fellow, who 
was about four years of age, had tears in his eyes 
and looked as if he was sentenced to his death. A 
baby boy had gone into the dining room, filled with 
men drawing their five dollars a day, and hadn't 
procured enough money to feed himself. 

His mother and the elder lady, who was about 
sixty-five years of age, said, "I guess w T e ? ll have to 
go, but we are awful hungry." 

I told them to sit down in the sitting room ; that 
I was going to see that they got something to eat. 
I saw the proprietor and got him to prepare a table 
for the five people. I then carried the poor people 
into the dining room and seated them around the 
table. 

I went to the waiters and told them to give those 
people something of everything they had and 



±0 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

plenty of it. The waiters carefully and courte- 
ously attended to their wants, and the ladies and 
the children ate to their hearts' content. I never 
felt happier in my life than I did when I watched 
them enjoy that meal. When they got through 
eating, they asked me if it would be any harm for 
them to carry the scraps away for their supper. 

I told them that it was no harm at all, and I 
went to work at once and rustled up the biggest 
paper sack in the house for them, and told them to 
take everything they could find, which they did. 

After dinner they went into the sitting room and 
sat around the stove to warm themselves and rest, 
as they were quite weary. They thanked me over 
and over for what I had done for them, and the old 
lady asked God to bless me for what she called 
a my act of kindness," and asked Him to bless all 
my efforts in life. 

The boys were too small to know what all this 
meant, and they sat on the floor, their hunger ap- 
peased, and laughed and played. This was a sad 
sight to me, and when the women began crying I 
could not keep the tears from my own eyes. 

These unfortunate people were from the country, 
and boll weevils and other things had destroyed 
their crops for two years and left them destitute. 
They were in such a pitiful plight that I was thank- 
ful that I was able to aid them, and that $1.25 that 
I gave for their dinner did me more good and fur- 
nished me more happiness than any other sum of 
money I ever spent. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 41 

XIII 

The Murder of Hartman 

I was ordered by the governor in 1890 to go to 
San Saba, as District Court was to convene there 
and the presence of Texas rangers in that town 
was greatly needed; for the people of that district 
were divided into two opposing factions, and the 
bitterness that existed between them had become 
intense. 

Since 1880 San Saba had been the center of a dis- 
turbance, caused by the organization of a "mob," 
whose operations extended into several other 
counties in that district. 

In other words, a number of people had banded 
together to protect themselves against the depre- 
dations of cattle thieves and other criminals, who 
were numerous in that part of the state. A num- 
ber of people lived in that district who had no re- 
gard for law and order, and stole so many cattle, 
horses and hogs that the people became aroused, 
and decided to take the law into their own hands 
and punish the guilty parties as they saw fit, and 
for this reason the club, afterward referred to as 
"the mob," was organized. 

The lawless element, of course, arrayed them- 
selves against the mob faction. Many good people 
also lined up against it, as they did no believe in 
mob spirit and thought the law should be allowed 
to take its course. Thus a strong organization, 
called the " anti-mob," grew into activity and bit- 
terly opposed the other faction. 



42 Twelve Yeaes ix tile Saddle. 

The mob faction, however, was the stronger of 
the two sides in numbers and influence, and in San 
Saba County, their greatest stronghold, they 
elected one of their men sheriff. 

The mob did some good work for a while, but, 
like all organizations of that character, it finally 
went too far, and became more oppressive as it 
grew in power. Quite a number of bad citizens 
were "slick" enough to slip over to the stronger 
faction — the mob element— and, as they did so, 
they played a big part in changing the purpose and 
power of that organization from good to bad. 

When the mob was first organized it began to put 
down lawlessness, but in 1890, ten years later, the 
bitter feeling that existed between the mob and 
anti-mob factions had reached such a high pitch 
that there was much fighting and disorder. Law- 
lessness was encouraged by both sides and could 
not be prevented by local authorities. Killings 
became rather frequent occurrences, and thieves 
took advantage of the numerous opportunities and 
stole live stock without fear of prosecution. 

Thus the criminal docket was full of important 
cases, but the prosecuting attorney could not go 
about his work unless he was given protection by 
the State ; so the governor sent me, as I have stated 
before, to San Saba to help them hold court. 

Red Murphy and Tom Piatt, also rangers, were 
with me, and we arrived at San Saba on the follow- 
ing Sunday about noon. After eating dinner at 
the hotel, we walked up the street and found the 
town full of men, as court was to convene the next 
morning. 

The men were sitting or standing around in 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 43 

groups of twelve or fifteen, and were discussing 
with some fervor the convening of court. They 
had come to town to see that things were run to 
suit them when court opened, and they meant 
"business," for the stores were full of their guns 
and ammunition which they had brought with 
them. 

While passing one group, we heard a man in- 
quire who we were, and another man replied that 
we were Texas rangers; whereupon they all 
laughed, some of them remarking that if we ever 
got three miles out of town we would never live to 
get back. We heard the remark, but paid no at- 
tention to it. 

On the following Tuesday night some one came 
to the hotel where we were staying and asked the 
proprietor, Jim Darfmyer, if the Texas rangers 
were not staying with him. Darfmyer told them 
that we were, and the visitor asked him to call us, 
which he did. 

When we got downstairs we met Nat Hartman, 
whose home was on the Colorado River. He 
seemed very anxious about something and in- 
formed us that his brother, Edd Hartman, was 
missing, and that he feared he had been killed. 
The Hartmans were members of the anti-mob fac- 
tion, and Nat Hartman told us that this was the 
first time in nine years that his brother had been 
outside of his house after sundown. 

We told him that we would go by and get Sheriff 
Howard and commence looking for his brother. 
Nat objected to us getting Howard. We told him 
that we would have to have the sheriff with us, so 



44 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

we went by and called for Howard, who joined us 
in the search. 

We reached the home of Nat Hartman's father 
a little before day, and just before sunrise we left 
Hartman's house and started down the river, the 
way they claimed Edd went off the day before at 
one o'clock. We walked about three-quarters of 
a mile, and found the dead body of the man for 
whom we were searching, lying in the bed of the 
river. 

We traced two men's tracks from the body to a 
house, sixty steps away, where a Mr. Campbell, 
one of Howard's deputy sheriffs, lived. 

Campbell was out in the yard when he saw us 
coming, but he started in a fast walk to the house 
when he discovered us. We stopped him before 
he got very far, but he said something to his wife, 
who was standing in the doorway, and she whirled 
back into the building, returning in a second or two 
with something in her hand, which she held under 
her apron. 

We were satisfied that she had his sixshooter, 
and we ordered her not to go near her husband. 
She then went back into the house. We arrested 
Campbell and his two sons, Meek and Dave, and 
five other men in his neighborhood. We reached 
San Saba with them a little after dark that even- 
ing, and locked them up in a little house that Darf- 
myer let us have for that night. We did not let 
them sleep together and kept them from talking 
with each other, so they would not "make medi- 
cine." 

About an hour or two before day, Campbell 
asked me to let him get up and sit by the stove. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 45 

I told him that would be alright, and he came over 
and began talking to me. He ran his hand over 
his face and said his face was paining him. He 
also claimed that his mule pitched him off a day 
or two before that, and threw him into a rough 
place, bruising his face up badly. He said he 
couldn't understand what was the matter with 
his mule; that he used to be a good mule, but had 
acted mighty strangely of late. He then claimed 
that the mule had also thrown one of his boys re- 
cently and bruised his face up considerably. 

The next morning we had all eight of the men 
up before the grand jury. Campbell testified be- 
fore the grand jury that a little grey mare had 
fallen down with him in a rough place and bruised 
his face. Another man before the grand jury tes- 
tified that a dun mare had fallen down with Camp- 
bell twelve miles further up the river. They made 
such conflicting statements in trying to get out of 
trouble that the grand jury indicted Dave Camp- 
bell and his father for the murder of Edd Hart- 
man. 

Dave Campbell jumped his bond and was caught 
seven years later in Arizona, where he was living 
under the name of "Alex Miller/' and was brought 
back to San Saba, but he was acquitted. 

Old man Campbell got a change of venue to 
Fort Mason, and was convicted and sentenced to 
seven and a half years in the penitentiary, but ap- 
pealed his case. He was tried sixteen times in 
eight years, and finally got off on a light sentence 
of two and a half years, and went to the peniten- 
tiary from Lampasas to serve it out. I had to go 



46 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

to court twice a year for eight years to testify in 
that case. 

Mr. Hartman, the father of the murdered man, 
is now dead, but he lived to fight the case for eight 
long years, and finally heard the sentence read to 
Campbell. In fighting the case he spent every 
dollar he had, and sold his farm and home and 
stock, in order to keep up the prosecution, and 
when he died at the age of seventy-seven years he 
was renting land. He had remained faithful to 
his son to the last. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 47 



XIV 

The Chase After Del Dean, When I Break 
my Arm and Ankle 

While court was in session at San Saba, Del 
Dean, an alleged horsethief, was notified that he 
had been indicted by the grand jury for stealing 
live stock. Dean at once mounted his horse and 
left town. Sheriff Hawkins asked me to capture 
Dean, saying that Dean had just left town, going 
out on the Llano road. 

I mounted my horse and started out in pursuit. 
Riding fast, I soon came in sight of Dean, who was 
urging his horse to the utmost speed. I clamped 
spurs to my horse and commenced to gain still 
more on Dean, and for some time we kept up a hot 
race. 

It was misting snow and the weather was raw 
and cold. I was going down hill as fast as my 
horse could run, when he suddenly struck a flat 
table rock and let his feet slip from under him. He 
fell, and I was thrown twenty-three feet from the 
saddle. My horse was running so fast when he fell 
that it was remarkable that I was not killed. When 
my horse and I took that sudden stop, I fell into a 
pile of rocks, and my head was badly bruised, my 
face terribly lacerated, my right arm broken, and 
my ankle sprained. 

Dean, of course, made his escape, and I do not 
think that he saw my horse fall with me. I was 
badly crippled up, and was treated by Doctors 
George and John Sanderson (brothers) for forty- 



48 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

six days. It was two years before I had any 
strength in my right hand and arm. I learned to 
shoot left-handed, and when my right arm got 
strong again, I could shoot as well with one hand 
as I could the other. 

Dean was captured by Edgar T. Neal after the 
latter became sheriff of San Saba County. When 
I went back to San Saba I went to the jail and saw 
Dean. All the prisoners shook hands with me ex- 
cept Dean. He had turned out his beard and I 
could not place him; so I asked him his name. 

He said, "I am Del Dean, the man whom you 
were pursuing when you broke your arm, and for 
that reason I thought probably you would not 
want to speak to me/' 

I assured him that he was mistaken; that I had 
no ill feeling toward him at all. I told him that 
while it was my duty to pursue him, it was natural 
for him to try to escape, and that I did not blame 
him with the accident. I told him that I felt sorry 
for him because he was in jail and hoped he 
would lead a better life when he got free again. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 49 



XV 

The Capture and Escape of Morris, the 
Noted Murderer 

In 1891 there lived in the little town of Vernon, 
one Jim Morris, and the two Moss brothers, who 
left together, during that year, for Greer County, 
where the three men were to take up land. The 
two Moss brothers had between them about five 
or six hundred dollars, which fact was known to 
Morris when the three left Vernon together. After 
reaching Salt Fork, which is in Greer County, they 
pitched camp to rest up a bit. While there, Morris 
and one of the Moss boys walked out a mile or so 
from the wagon to kill some game. After being 
gone a little while, Morris suddenly turned his gun 
on Moss and fired, killing him instantly. After 
burying the dead body in a sandhill, he went back 
to camp and told the other Moss boy that his 
brother had sent back for him and the wagon, as 
he had found a much better place to camp, and for 
him to hitch up and bring everything to the new 
stopping place. There happened to be two cow- 
punchers at the camp at this time who heard the 
conversation. Moss was sick, and when the two 
left, as Moss supposed, for the new camping place, 
he lay down in the bottom of the wagon, with his 
head near Morris, who was driving. 

Ignorant of the terrible fate that had just over- 
taken his brother a little while before, Moss unsus- 
pectingly put his hat over his face so he could rest 
easier, with the sun's rays thus kept from his eyes. 



50 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Morris took advantage of this opportunity, and 
shot and killed the sick man, the bullet passing 
through his hat and blowing his brains out. He 
then threw the body out of the wagon and buried 
it in a nearby sandhill, exactly as he had disposed 
of the remains of the other man. Besides getting 
all of their money, he kept one of their watches, 
and also the coat which he took from his first vic- 
tim. This coat had a bullet hole through the back, 
indicating the manner in which the man had been 
slain. Among other things found in the coat was 
a note which Moss had written to a young lady 
asking her for her company to church. The lady 
had accepted his invitation, according to this note, 
which had slipped into the lining through a worn- 
out pocket. When this murder occurred I was 
stationed in Quanah. 

At that time there was no jail at Mangum, where 
we caught Morris, so we placed the prisoner in the 
calaboose, but as there was strong talk of lynch- 
ing him, the officers removed him to Quanah, 
where he was safely landed in the county jail. He 
was kept there about two years, and was closely 
guarded a greater part of that time by some of the 
rangers. He was tried on two indictments for 
murder and was sentenced to hang in both cases. 

He appealed his case, however, and got a new 
trial, but the jury again brought in a verdict of 
death. He became very desperate, and was a 
hard man to keep imprisoned. One night during 
his trial, while being guarded by Bob Dawson, a 
constable of that county, he picked his shackles 
with a writing pen and broke away. In escaping 
he jumped from a two-story window, and was at 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 51 

large three days and nights before he was recap- 
tured and placed in jail. Morris kept us mighty 
busy before he was found, and, when we did get 
him, we took him in a few days to Fort Worth for 
safe keeping, until the day of his execution; but 
he succeeded in breaking away from that place, 
also, and never has been captured nor located 
since. At the time of his escape Morris was twen- 
ty-seven years of age, tall, broad-shouldered, and 
very handsome. 

One morning at sunrise, while in the brakes 
searching for Morris, we looked up the draw which 
led into Pease River and saw a fire. Thinking we 
would find our game, we at once surrounded the 
place where we saw the fire and smoke, but found 
instead an escaped convict. With him was a 
woman dressed in man's clothes. Her hair was 
cropped short, and on her heels she wore a pair of 
Petmaker spurs. She also wore a California suit 
of clothes, a Stetson hat, a shop-made pair of boots, 
and a blue shirt and necktie. She was a Mistress 
Jennie Bates, and was stolen away from her 
home in Palo Pinto County by this convict. We 
took from her a .45 Colt's sixshooter, a Winchester 
and a scabbard belt full of cartridges. 

The woman, who weighed nearly a hundred and 
thirty-five pounds, looked to be about twenty-five 
years of age and a little over five feet tall. With 
black hair and dark eyes, she appeared to be a good 
looking man. The couple had stolen four head of 
horses, so we put them in jail at Quanah. The 
convict had escaped from the penitentiary after 
serving five years of a ten-year sentence for horse 
stealing. He was tried in Quanah for his latest 



52 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

thefts, and sent back to the penitentiary to finish 
serving his first sentence, with an addition of five 
years for his last crime. The woman got a change 
of venue from Quanah to Vernon and came clear. 
The ladies of Vernon felt sorry for her and dressed 
her up in woman's clothing. Mrs. Wheeler was 
the only white woman I ever arrested. Mr. J. M. 
Brit ton, a ranger, aided in making the capture. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 53 

XVI 

The Arrest of Hollingsworth 

I received a warrant from Austin, in 1891, to ar- 
rest O. N. Hollingsworth. He was then living 
eighteen miles west of Quanah, and seven miles 
south of Kirkland. Pick Gipson, the sheriff, and 
Lon Lewis went with me after Mr. Hollingsworth. 
Hollingsworth knew Lon Lewis and Sheriff Gipson, 
but he had never seen me; so, when we got within 
a half mile of Mr. Hollingsworth 7 s house, they pro- 
posed that I go down to the house and see if he 
was there, saying that if he was they would come 
on in a short time, and for me to remain until they 
arrived there. They told me not to try to arrest 
him, for they were pretty well satisfied, since the 
old man's case was a bad one, that he would more 
than likely make a fight. When I rode up to the 
gate, I called out to the people, it being after dark, 
and a young man, who looked to be about seven- 
teen years old, came out. 

I asked him if he had seen a man pass there rid- 
ing a grey horse and leading a black, or riding a 
black and leading a grey. I told him that this 
man was about six feet two and one-half inches 
tall, and had red curly hair and a heavy red mus- 
tache. I said that I wanted this man in Baylor 
County for the theft of these two horses. He said 
that he had not seen the man nor the horses. He 
asked me then to get down and spend the night 
with them. I told him that as my horse and I 
were very badly jaded I would like to stay there 



54 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

that night. I asked him if I would be imposing 
on the family, and inquired if his father and mo- 
ther were at home. He said that they were in the 
house, and I told him that I would stay. 

I led my horse up through the gate, and he re- 
marked "Let's go and put your horse up." 

I told him that I would have to have a drink of 
water before I put my horse up ; that I was nearly 
dying with thirst. The water barrel was sitting 
right in front of the door, and I could see it in the 
light. He insisted very much on me putting my 
horse up before I got the water, but I could see the 
old man standing in the door, and I was satisfied 
that he would step out in the dark and I would 
fail to see him that night, as the lot was on the 
other side, in the rear. I went on up to the front 
door and spoke to the old gentleman and took a 
drink of water. 

Then I asked the old gentleman if his name was 
Hollingsworth. 

He said it was. 

I said, "I have papers for you, Mr. Hollings- 
worth." 

" Where are they from?" he asked. 

"From Austin." 

"Well, alright," he said. 

I turned my horse over to the young man and 
told him to hitch him. Then I stepped into the 
building, and the old gentleman and I sat down. 
Mrs. Hollingsworth was reading a book and never 
looked up nor spoke to me for twenty minutes, 
and, when she did, she asked if I had been to sup- 
per. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 55 

I told her that I had eaten some cheese and 
crackers that I had with me. 

She said, a You had better let me go and fix 
something for you; I have plenty cooked." I in- 
sisted that she not put herself to any trouble, but 
she went, anyway, and fixed the table. I am sat- 
isfied that Mrs. Hollingsworth thought that I 
would leave her husband in the house while I went 
to eat. That would have given the old gentleman 
a chance to make his escape; so, when I started 
out, I told him to go out ahead of me. This little 
eating house was about twenty steps from the 
main building that we were in. I ate supper, and 
we went back to the dwelling and seated ourselves. 

The old gentleman commenced crying and 
started to the bureau, where there was a double- 
barrel shotgun and a Winchester, one on each side. 
He was half way to the bureau, when the thought 
struck me that he might make a bad play with 
those guns, being stirred up as he was and crying; 
so I halted him, and told him to come back and 
take his seat. He told me that he only wanted to 
get the hair brush and brush his hair and beard, 
but I told him that he could do that in the morn- 
ing. 

About that time Gipson and Lewis came up, and 
I was very glad to see them. I had been looking 
for them for some time; for they told me that if I 
did not return they would come to me in a half 
hour, as they would know that he was at home; 
but it was all of an hour and a half before they 
came to me. They put their horses up, and Mrs. 
Hollingsworth began to fix beds for all of us. This 
building had only one room. It was cut back in 



56 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

a hill and planked up on each side and in front, 
making a comfortable house. Mrs. Hollingsworth 
made us a pallet in the front part of the building. 
She and her husband slept in the back, and there 
was a curtain in the center of the house that cut 
them off from the others. She told me that I 
could lie down and rest easy; that she would be 
responsible for her husband ; that there was no way 
for him to escape. I noticed two windows in the 
back part of the building; so I told Mrs. Hollings- 
worth that I made it a point to guard all prisoners, 
and for her and her family to fix and lie down, and 
I would pull the curtains back so we could guard 
the old gentleman. 

It was seven miles from there to Kirkland, and 
eighteen miles from Kirkland to Quanah ; so we ate 
breakfast the next morning and got off in time to 
meet the south-bound train at Kirkland. Mr. Hol- 
lingsworth' s boy took him in the buggy to Kirk- 
land. When we reached Kirkland, Pick Gipson, 
the sheriff, took him to Quanah on the train, and 
Lon Lewis and I rode through horseback. 

When Mr. Hollingsworth separated from his wife 
and two or three little girls, it was such a sad scene 
to witness, that I never will forget it. His wife 
clung to his neck, and those sweet little girls held 
to his arms and legs. I thought I never would get 
away from the sound of his wife's and children's 
screams. This was, indeed, a sad morning to me, 
and the family had my deepest sympathy. 

When we reached Quanah, I learned at our 
camp that Pick Gipson had turned Mr. Hollings- 
worth over to the rangers, and he remained at our 
camp three days and nights before we sent him to 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 57 

Austin. While at camp, eating our grub, I asked 
the old gentleman one day if he would like to have 
a hotel dinner. He said he would, so I took him 
to the Quanah Hotel and gave him a good dinner. 
He asked me to walk up stairs with him, and he 
showed me some pictures of Jersey cows and calves, 
which were hanging on the wall. They were beau- 
tiful, and he told me that his grown daughters had 
drawn them. He cried, and said, " Sullivan, I am 
no thief. My children overdrew on me. They 
were 'high livers' and they got me behind with the 
State. That is the reason you have me arrested." 
Hollingsworth was then about sixty-five years old, 
very straight and erect, and fine looking, and was 
highly educated. I am satisfied that he was no 
thief, but his children were expensive in their way 
of living, and caused him to fall behind and make 
this great mistake with the State. When he got 
into this trouble he was holding an office in Austin. 
Before that he taught school and bore a good name. 
He gave bond in Austin, but jumped it and made 
his escape. His wife sold her home, and his two 
daughters sold theirs — a section of land apiece — 
and paid the bond off. I have never heard of Hol- 
lingsworth since. 



58 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 



XVII 

The Capture of Mayes, The Noted 
Horse Thief 

While stationed at Quanah, Texas, I was noti- 
fied one evening by Col. Rush that Dock James, 
alias Dock Mayes, a noted horse thief, was camp- 
ing near Quanah, and that he was stealing cattle 
and horses throughout that part of the country. 

Col. Rush had just arrived in Quanah on the 
train from Colorado City. He told me that he 
had two herds of cattle, near Quanah, that had 
been driven in from Colorado City by his hands. 

As Mayes was wanted in seven counties, I 
thought I had better make good work of him; so 
I took Frank Hofer, a ranger, and Bob Collier, a 
deputy sheriff, and started after this cattle thief. 
I at once went north with them to Groesbeck 
River, about five miles out of town, where I found 
a herd of cattle. I asked the man who had charge 
of the cattle if that herd belonged to Col. Rush. 
He replied that they did not; that Rush's herd was 
south of the Fort Worth & Denver road ; so I bade 
him good-bye and started south. 

When I got to the railroad I met two ladies in a 
buggy going west, up the track. I looked around, 
and about five miles south of the track I saw the 
herd, but I was satisfied that these ladies were go- 
ing up the track to another herd, and, thinking 
that the cattle west of us were Rush's, I plead with 
Bob Collier to go with me, and we would follow the 
ladies. I was afraid that the ladies would inform 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 59 

Mayes that the officers were around, and told Bob 
that that was why I wanted to go up the track 
then, but Bob was hard-headed and would not go 
with us; so we turned and ran our horses to the 
herd that was directly south of us, and made the 
five miles in a little while. 

When I reached the herd I saw a man sitting on 
a big black horse. I asked him if this was Col. 
Rush's herd, and he said, u No; Rush's herd is at 
Quanah at the railroad tank watering." 

I knew that was a lie, for I had not been away 
from Quanah more than three-quarters of an hour, 
as I had been riding fast all the time. 

I rode around the herd and asked one of the 
hands, a Mexican, if he could tell me where either 
one of Col. Rush's herds was. In reply, he pointed 
west, the direction in which the two ladies were go- 
ing, and said, " Yonder is the herd on that high di- 
vide about five miles from here." Then I was 
somewhat vexed, when I remembered that Bob 
would not consent to us following the buggy a 
little while before. 

Although our horses were hot and tired, I told 
Bob and Frank to put theirs beside mine and we 
would run them over to the other herd. I told 
Bob that since he had acted such a fool, and caused 
this trouble, I would make him kill that horse of 
his; so we laid the steel to our horses and pulled for 
that other five-mile heat. 

We had arrived within three-quarters of a mile 
from Mayes' camp and the herders had failed to 
see us, as we were in a flat covered with mesquite 
timber, and they were at the top of a hill, right on 
the divide. 



60 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

The two ladies, whom we had seen going up 
the track, had reported to them that we were com- 
ing. A man, calling himself Jackson, was sent at 
once to the wagon at their camp to inform Mayes 
that we were coming, but he did not get to deliver 
his message. As we were nearing the divide, Jack- 
son ran his horse into us at full speed. I stopped 
him and asked him where he was going. He re- 
plied that he was going to camp to change horses. 
I told him that his horse didn't seem to be very 
tired from the way he was moving out. I then put 
him under arrest and told him to tell me the truth. 

"I want a fellow," I said, "by the name of Dock 
James, alias Dock Mayes, and don't you tell me 
anything but the truth. Is he with the herd, or 
is he at camp?" 

He replied that he was at the camp. 

I asked him how far it was to the camp. 

He said it was about a mile and a half. 

I then told him to put his horse beside mine and 
take me the nearest way to camp. 

When I got within eight hundred yards of their 
camp, I saw the same man whom I had met sitting 
on the black horse at the other herd, five miles 
away. He was the one who had told me such a 
story about Bush's cattle being in Quanah, water- 
ing at the railroad tank. He, also, had a message 
to deliver to Mayes about us, and had run his horse 
fast enough to beat us a minute or two, but too late 
to give Mayes sufficient time to get away. We saw 
him rush up to the wagon and tell Mayes that we 
were coming. Mayes sprang up and, in a stooping 
position, went in a trot to his saddle, about thirty 
yards away, and pulled his Winchester out of the 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 61 

scabbard. The man on the black horse immedi- 
ately put spurs to his steed and left for his herd. 
When I saw Mayes making for his Winchester I 
thought I could rush in and get him before he 
reached it. I had no more use for Jackson, so I 
told Bob and Frank, both, to follow me and let 
him go. I then spurred my horse up and went 
straight for Mayes, with Bob following me. Bob, 
however, had told Frank to stay behind and guard 
Jackson, which was not my wish, and Frank did 
what Bob had requested him to do. 

Bob stayed with me about three hundred yards, 
and then dropped behind, and when I had gotten 
within two hundred yards of Mayes, I heard him 
(Bob) yelling at me to hold up. I had gone too 
far by this time to turn back; so I paid no atten- 
tion to Bob, but kept jerking "cat hair" out of my 
horse's sides. 

When I had gotten within sixty yards of the 
wagon, Mayes yelled to me that he would kill me 
if I crowded him any more. About that time my 
horse became frightened at some blankets hang- 
ing out on a mesquite bush, and commenced jump- 
ing a thousand ways a second; but I kept pulling 
for the wagon. Mayes had gotten behind the 
wagon, and was at this time sitting by the wheels 
with his Winchester at his shoulder. When I saw 
him and remembered his reputation as a fine shot 
and a dangerous man, I said to myself, "I am a 
dead man." I jumped my horse over the wagon 
tongue, which placed me within six feet of Mayes. 
I sat my horse down, and pointed my gun at Mayes 
and told him to surrender. He said he would. I 
ordered him to throw his Winchester on the ground, 



62 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

which he did. I searched him for his sixshooter, 
and picked his Winchester up. About that time. 
Bob Collier, the deputy sheriff, came up. 

Mayes asked me why I crowded him as I did. 
"If I had had my Winchester loaded/' he said, 
"you would have been in hell right now. This is 
the first time in fourteen years that the magazine 
of my rifle has ever been empty." 

I asked him how it came to be empty then. 

He replied that one of the boys had gone out to 
shoot rabbits a little while before that, and emp- 
tied the magazine and had forgotten to reload it. 

Then I asked him if his name was Mayes, and he 
replied that it was. 

I asked him if "James" would not suit him bet- 
ter; but he only smiled. 

I then asked him if he had a horse. 

He replied that he had a little old sore-back cow 
pony. 

About that time Frank Hofer came up, bringing 
Jackson with him. I scolded Frank a little bit 
about staying with Jackson instead of coming with 
me as I had requested him to. 

I told Jackson to go with Frank and get Mayes' 
horse, which he did, returning in a few minutes. 
I found that Mayes had lied. His "little sore-back 
cow pony" was a thoroughbred racehorse, and as 
pretty as a peach. 

I handcuffed Mayes and took his bridle reins. 
Then I tied a rope around his animal's neck and 
wrapped the other end around the horn of my sad- 
dle, and let Mayes mount his horse. After we 
started off Mayes asked me to let him have the 
reins, as his horse traveled so badly when he did 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 63 

not have reins in his hands. I had a suspicion 
that he intended to attempt to make his escape, 
so I did not grant his request. 

I put him in the county jail at Quanah. He 
was wanted at Weatherford for horse theft. He 
was sentenced to the penitentiary for nine years; 
was tried again in Colorado City, and sentenced 
for an additional nine years. He was wanted in 
five more counties, but did not answer for the other 
charges. After serving six years of his term of nine 
years, he was pardoned out of the penitentiary by 
Gov. Culberson. 



6l Twelve Years in the Saddle. 



XVIII 

Exciting Experiences While Pursuing Bill 
James 

I went, in 1891, while stationed at Quanah, to 
institute a search for Bill James, who had foully 
murdered his brother, John, at Bill's home. 

James was supposed to be hiding in the Co- 
manche Strip; so I took George Black, Frank 
Hofer and Billy McCauley and went to Greer 
County, where we pitched camp on the North 
Fork of Red River, about three miles from Nava- 
joe. We rode every day for five months, and 
scouted the country all around there. Though our 
main object was to capture James, we arrested a 
number of criminals and put a stop to some of the 
lawlessness that occurred on the border. 

We had a number of amusing, as well as excit- 
ing, experiences while trying to capture James. I 
told James' brother-in-law one day that I thought 
James was in Quanah Parker's camp, or in ^hat 
part of the strip. At that time Quanah Parker's 
camp was near Fort Sill. The brother-in-law told 
me that I would be apt to find him there, and I an- 
nounced that I was going to take all the rangers 
and go to that part of the strip to look for Bill. 

I planned and talked about the trip for several 
days, to make everybody think that I was really 
going to Fort Sill after James. My real intention, 
however, was to allow James' brother-in-law and 
other friends plenty of time to get word to him 
that the officers were to be out of the way on a cer- 




SERGEANT W. J. L. SULLIVAN IN 1896 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 65 

tain date, and he could come home and see his 
two-weeks' old babe, which I thought he would do. 
Then I was to go out a few miles and drop back 
suddenly at the right moment and capture James. 

An old man, who lived in the community, 
wanted to go along with us to help about camp, ' 
and play the fiddle for us and hunt game. He 
was a privileged character in the community, and 
very amusing as well as useful; so I told him he 
could go with us. He was elated over the thought 
of going with us and said he would play his fiddle 
at night, and in the day time he would kill all the 
birds on Bitter Creek for us to eat. 

When the day came for us to leave a number of 
men came to see us off. We packed our bedding 
and provisions in the wagon, and the old man got 
on with his shotgun and fiddle, and we started off 
in grand style. 

We traveled slowly and lost as much time as we 
could, in order to be as close to his home as was 
possible under the circumstances when night came 
on. 

At six o'clock in the evening I told the driver to 
pull out to the left of the road. It was eight miles 
from any water, and I remarked that we would 
have "dry camp." 

The fiddler and bird man asked me what I meant 
by u dry camp." 

I told him that we were to do without water. 

He said that he had been thirsty an hour or two 
and had been wishing that I would stop and pitch 
camp, so he could get a drink of water. 

I told the old man that we rangers didn't drink 



66 Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 

but once a day, and that the mules and horses 
were trained the same way. 

He said if he had known all this at first he 
wouldn't have come along. 

We told him that we were a little thirsty our- 
selves, but if he would play the fiddle for us it 
would help us to pass the time away and endure 
our thirst. The man played and sang for us a 
little while, and then rolled up in his blankets and 
was soon asleep, calling hogs and sawing gourds in 
that good old happy way. 

After waiting there several hours, I decided we 
had been away long enough for James to have had 
time to reach his home; so I woke the man up and 
told him that we were going back to the river, 
where we could get a drink of that good muddy 
water. 

He said that he could not understand our move- 
ments; that he thought we were to be gone several 
days. 

I told him that we would have to go, and, turn- 
ing to the driver and the other boys, I said that we 
would have to travel quietly. We had good luck 
in fording the river, but when we reached the other 
side we found two roads, one leading to the left and 
and the other to the right. I had to study a mo- 
ment to determine what we had better do. 

I was afraid James had caught on to us; so I 
sent George Black and Frank Hofer around the 
left-hand road, and Farris and I went the other 
way. I thought, by doing that, we would catch 
James, even if he became suspicious and left the 
river to go back to his old hiding place. 

I told Black and Hofer that if they found the 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 67 

gates down, they must run fast and that we would 
do the same thing. The two roads were only half 
a mile apart, and I could hear a dog barking fur- 
ther up the road on the left, and, thinking it might 
mean that someone had gone ahead to notify 
James of our coming, we ran as swiftly as our 
horses could carry us, all four of us reaching James' 
house at the same time. 

We quickly dismounted, and the other boys sur- 
rounded the house while I knocked at the front 
door. 

A lady asked who I was and what I wanted. I 
told her that I was Sullivan and wanted her hus- 
band, Bill. 

She said he wasn't there, and that I had been 
searching her house so much that she was not go- 
ing to open the door. 

I told her I couldn't help that, and, though I was 
sorry for her, I made her open the door at last. 

She said she would not turn on a light. I told 
her I would attend to that part of it alright, and 
when I went into the house I pulled a handful of 
matches from my pocket and lit the whole bunch 
. at once, which made a good light. 

The boys outside were eagerly watching the 
house to see if Bill James would run out. I 
searched the house thoroughly, but could not find 
my man, and finally decided that he was not there 
and gave up the hunt. 

I was greatly disappointed at my failure, for I 
wanted James " awful bad." He sent us a number 
of messages, saying that we had better look out; 
that helwould knock us out of date. If we had met 



68 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

him, though, we would have done what was right 
by the gentleman. 

I was satisfied, after we failed to find him, that 
he was further from home than we thought he was, 
and that he failed to learn that we had left Greer 
County. 

Frank Hofer and I thought once that we had 
him in a cave. The cave was in the side of a big 
mountain, and we had to climb about two hundred 
feet to get to it. 

When we first entered the cave, Frank and I 
could walk side by side, but the further we went 
the narrower the cave got, and we finally had to 
walk " single file." The cave was small, but we 
soon saw that it opened into another one. 

It was very dark inside the cave, and we had to 
feel our way as we went. We came to a place 
through which we had to go sidewise, and at an- 
other place we ran across a spring. We could 
smell bacon, and knew by that and other signs 
that men had camped in there, and we were also 
sure that Bill James was at that moment in the 
back part of that cave. We came across funny 
things and heard strange noises, and the further 
we went, the darker it got. 

Finally Frank asked me if I didn't think we were 
acting foolishly in going blindly into that cave. 

"I expect we are/' I replied. 

"Let's get out," said Frank. 

I told him I was willing; so we groped our way 
out, and we were glad to see daylight again. 

It was about thirty feet to the top of the moun- 
tain, and we knew the cave must have extended 
quite a number of feet upward. There was lots of 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 69 

brush and wood on top; so we decided to throw 
down some of it and pile it in the cave and set fire 
to it and smoke the man out. 

Frank climbed to the top of the mountain and 
threw the wood down onto a bench that made off 
from the mountain, and I dragged it back and piled 
it up in the cave. When we finished our task we 
ignited the wood and brush and got off a little way 
to wait for the man to come out. 

The wood blazed up in good fashion, but in a 
little while we commenced wondering where the 
smoke was going to. We soon found out, however, 
for the smoke and heat ascended to the top of the 
mountain inside the cave, but, not being able to 
get out, it rebounded and began pouring out of the 
cave in great volume. The heat was intense, and 
we could not see which way to turn on account of 
the smoke. Fire gushed out of the cave, and the 
flames were blown against us, setting us on fire be- 
fore we could get out of the way. Instead of smok- 
ing out men and fighting criminals, we were setting 
fire to ourselves and fighting the flames. 

It would have been better if we had gone on and 
explored the cave, and let the smoking business 
alone, but we were afraid to venture too far in 
when it was so dark, and we did not know what 
we were going to run into. Somebody told us if 
we had gone on to the end of the cave, we might 
have found some money, but I hadn't lost any 
money in there just at that date, and Frank said 
he hadn't, so we thought we had no particular 
amount of business in there, and we decided to 
beat a retreat. 

James was finally captured in the Indian Terri- 



70 Twelve Years ijs t the Saddle. 

tory by some United States marshals, and was 
tried for the murder which he was alleged to have 
committed, but was acquitted. Before I close 
this story, however, I shall relate another incident 
which happened while we were trailing James. 

Early one morning the other boys and myself 
went to the top of a mountain to look down upon 
James' house through a field glass, and see if we 
couldn't catch James slipping into his house. 

While looking through the glass I discovered a 
man about two miles from us and a mile from Bill's 
house. He was walking around another mountain, 
and held something in his hand that shined so in 
the sunlight that we could see it at that great dis- 
tance. Thinking that was Bill slipping away from 
house with his Winchester, we ran quickly to the 
mountain, reaching it in a few minutes. 

I told Hofer, Black and Farris to run around the 
mountain one way, and I started around the other 
way. We felt sure we had Bill this time, and were 
so elated that we ran much faster than was neces- 
sary, and were traveling at full speed, when we all 
three reached the man at the same time. 

We arrested him and asked him his name. 

He said, "I am Rev. Joe Smith, and, as I am go- 
ing to preach today, I have come out here to pray." 

We were dumfounded. Noticing that the large 
Bible, which Brother Smith carried, had big silver 
letters on it, we realized that what we thought was 
Bill James' Winchester was in reality the Holy 
Bible. 

" Brother Smith" showed us their little church, 
which was situated at the foot of the mountain, 
and the mountain had obstructed it from our view. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 71 

We humbly apologized to the preacher, and he 
said that he was thankful and glad to know that it 
was a mistake. He laughingly remarked that he 
thought his time had come, and said if he could re- 
gain his composure he would go on up to the church 
and preach his sermon. 



72 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XIX 

Indians on The Warpath 

While the ranger boys and I were camping on 
the North Fork of the Red River, still in search of 
Bill James, we received a call to go about twenty- 
five miles further up the river, to protect a family 
who were threatened with extermination by a band 
of Indians. We were quite busy at that time ; for 
every day, nearly, we had a horse thief or some 
other bad character to capture. 

We went up, however, to see what we could do 
for the family who had called for help. I took 
with me two deputy marshals, Jeff Minet and Tom 
Mason. I also took my rangers, George Black, 
Jim Farris and Frank Hofer, the latter being the 
best Indian fighter in the bunch. 

When we reached the house, where the family 
lived who were threatened by the Indians, we 
learned that a young man had killed an Indian, 
who had attempted to steal a steer from them. 
The Indian was armed with a Winchester, and 
when the young man caught the Indian in the act 
of stealing, the Indian tried to shoot him, but the 
boy was too quick for him and shot the Indian, kill- 
ing him instantly. 

The Indians went on the warpath, and sent word 
to the whites that they would kill everybody on 
Wolf Creek, and when we arrived upon the scene, 
we found them in an ugly humor. They had their 
faces painted up, and had made all necessary prep- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 73 

arations to kill out the whole family of the young 
man who had killed a member of their tribe. 
! We were there to protect the family, and, in do- 
ing so, it was up to us six men to stand off the In- 
dians, which seemed to us an impossible task. We 
felt like we were going to be killed, but it was our 
duty to stay there and protect the women and chil- 
dren from the wrath of the Cohuahua Indians. 
Those Indians looked quite fierce, and, as you may 
imagine, we looked rather wild too. It didn't feel 
a bit funny to us, and we certainly felt small when 
we looked at them. I was not a bit frightened at 
first, but for three or four days afterward I felt very 
shaky, and constantly put my hand up to my head 
to see if I was scalped. 

We made peace with the Indians by bluffing 
them, and making them think we would kill all of 
them if they attempted to fight us. We did not 
expect to prevent trouble that easily, and were sur- 
prised when we learned that they had decided not 
not to fight us. It was remarkable that they were 
so easily subdued. If they had tried, they would 
have killed us all, and we often wondered why they 
didn't. 

The people, whose lives we saved, were very 
thankful to us, and when they had recovered suffi- 
ciently from their fright they entertained us roy- 
ally. We were given all the good fried chickens 
we could eat, and treated as if we were preachers 
and lords of England. 



74 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 



XX 

The Opening of the Cheyenne and Arapahoe 
Strip 

In 1891 the Cheyenne and Arapahoe Strip was 
opened up to settlers. Billy McCauley, Lon Lewis, 
John Herrington, Capt. W. J. McDonald and I left 
Quanah to go to the opening of this strip, knowing 
that this would be a good place to capture out- 
laws. We went by Mangum, in Greer County, and 
got John Byers and John Ovelton and stopped at 
Oak Creek, which was about nine miles from what 
was going to be the new county seat — Cloudchief. 
This territory was to open up at twelve o'clock, and 
when we reached Oak Creek we got the correct 
time from one of the soldiers. About twenty-five 
hundred men were at Oak Creek alone, waiting for 
twelve o'clock to come. 

When the hand of my watch reached twelve, I 
laid steel to my horse, and we all made a break for 
the county seat, after crossing Oak Creek, which 
was about fifty steps from us. Men from all sides 
of this strip were headed for the new county seat, 
under full speed. Wild cats, loboes, coyotes, an- 
telopes and badgers were running in every direc- 
tion. One of our posse roped a deer, and another 
killed one, while they were all running in every 
direction. This was about as exciting a time as I 
ever experienced ; horses falling on every side, from 
stepping in gopher and salamander holes, and dust 
so thick that a man could hardly see in front of 
him. Our crowd made the run of nine miles in 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 75 

thirty-five minutes. I staked out two claims, one 
within a mile, and the other a mile and a half from 
the county seat. 

The signal, which meant that the county seat 
was open for settlers, was given by a soldier firing 
a cannon. Up to this time there wasn't a soul to 
be seen in the new county. In less than thirty 
minutes after the signal was given this was a solid 
city covered with tents. We people, who made 
the run, were to get a business lot and residence 
lot. I made a mistake and staked a street instead 
of a lot. I had quite a little argument before they 
convinced me that I was mistaken. We failed to 
locate any parties that we wanted and turned back 
to our headquarters in Quanah. 



76 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XXI 

A Cup and Saucer Event 

In the fall of 1892 Capt. McDonald discharged 
the company cook, and each ranger had to do the 
cooking for a week while in camp. On one occa- 
sion it was Ben Owen's week to cook, and, after 
preparing an inviting breakfast one frosty morn- 
ing at the camp in Amarillo, he discovered in set- 
ting the table that he was short one saucer, and it 
so happened, when the boys took their seats at the 
table, that Lee Queen was the man short a saucer, 
and Queen made some remark about everyone hav- 
ing a saucer but him. Owens shoved his saucer 
over to Queen, striking his cup and knocked a 
little coffee out on the table, and, at the same time, 
remarked, "Here, baby, take this one.'' 

This seemed to offend Queen very much, and he 
threw the saucer back to Owen, striking his cup, 
breaking both cup and saucer. Both men jumped 
to their feet and pulled their guns. I grabbed both 
men and prevented what might have been a killing 
over a very small thing. I have always been glad 
that I was in time to prevent this shooting, and I 
go on the theory that it is better to be a peacemaker 
and prevent trouble than to make it. After a few 
minutes, Owen and Queen saw the folly of their 
acts, shook hands, and have remained to this day 
the best of friends. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 77 

XXII 

A Prisoner Escapes 

While stationed at Amarillo I went to Wood- 
ward, Oklahoma, after a fellow by the name of Bill 
Hines, who robbed a man of $600.00 in Collings- 
worth County. I caught this man, and while we 
were crossing the Canadian River, about a mile 
from Canadian City, I dropped off to sleep, as I 
had been on the go for three days and nights and 
was worn out. I woke up in Canadian City, and 
found that Billie had bidden me good-bye while I 
was asleep, and had struck a stock train and gone 
back to Woodward, Oklahoma. He had taken this 
train before I awoke after our train had arrived in 
Canadian City. This is the only man who ever 
made his escape from me: I took the train the 
next morning for Woodward City, but failed to 
catch Bill. 

That day, while I was searching for Bill in Wood- 
ward, three prisoners broke jail at this place. I 
was called on to assist the officers in the capture of 
these three men. I got in shape at once, and 
joined the posse. Ex-Sheriff Love and I crossed 
the Canadian River one mile below where the pris- 
oners had crossed. Tobe Odom and his posse en- 
gaged in a fight with Jim Hefner and John Hill, two 
of the prisoners. We reached them too late to join 
in the fight. Both of the fugitives were killed. 
Ben Woodford's right arm was shot off. 

George Wattle, the third prisoner, was not with 



78 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

the party at the time of the fight, but we found him 
one mile from there lying down on his Winchester. 
He made no fight, and when called upon to sur- 
render, he threw up his hands at once. Several 
of the men in the crowd said, " Let's kill him any- 
how." I spoke up and said, "If you kill that man 
I'll hold you responsible for murder, as he has sur- 
rendered and thrown up his hands." Temple 
Houston, who was with us, spoke up and said, 
"Sullivan, you are right." We sent for a hack and 
hauled the three men in — two dead, and one alive. 
We jailed Wattle. This fellow, John Hill, was a 
very dangerous man. He feared nothing on earth 
and was known as a slick artist in the Territory in 
his line of business. Hefner was not so desperate, 
but all three were bad enough. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 79 

XXIII 

The Capture of Rip Pearce 

I captured one Rip Pearce, charged with hold- 
holding up a Fort Worth & Denver passenger 
train, with the intention of robbing the express 
car. He held up this train in a cut about four hun- 
dred yards from the Canadian River, near Tascosa, 
Texas. Rip Pearce was about thirty years of age 
at that time, and was six feet two inches and a half 
tall, and weighed about 200 pounds. When I ar- 
rested Pearce he made no fight. I jailed him at 
Tascosa. I concealed myself at the jail, and did 
not let him know it. He became awfully restless, 
and commenced walking the floor and talking to 
himself. There were no other prisoners in the jail 
except him. He cried and said, "If I ever live to 
get out of this scrape, I will always behave myself 
and lead a different life." When I made him make 
this remark, I was satisfied that I had the right 
man. 

D. B. Hill was district attorney. I had a hard 
time locating Mr. Hill, but I kept the wires hot in 
every direction and finally got word to him, and he 
arrived just in time to keep Judge Penery from re- 
leasing Pearce from the jail on a writ of habeas 
corpus. Pearce had employed Judge Penery to 
defend him in his case. Judge Penery was at one 
time county judge of his county. Pearce knew 
that the judge was a fine lawyer, and I also found 
it out before this trial was over. 

After Pearce was released he fell in love with a 



80 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

bunch of horses in Hall County. He fancied these 
horses, and at last got the consent of his mind to 
deprive the owner of them, and was captured and 
sentenced to seven years in the penitentiary. He 
served his time out, and has been free for several 
years. I learned that he had reformed and was 
living a good, honest, upright life, which I was 
very glad to know. 



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Twelve Years in the Saddle. 81 

XXIV 

A Practical Joker Gets Into Trouble 

While I was at Amarillo, one Bob Keene, who 
was traveling from New Mexico to Amarillo, met 
the stage coming from Plainview to Amarillo. He 
held the stage-driver up and made him get out of 
the stage, and, pointing his sixshooter at him, he 
made the driver dance nearly two hours. After 
releasing him, Keene forced the driver to drink 
until he was pretty well under the influence of 
" Brother Red-Eye." Keene then started on his 
way, and the driver was satisfied he had gotten 
rid of him. When he had driven about three 
miles, however, he heard a noise behind him. He 
looked around, and Keene threw down on him 
again, and held him up and had him to cut the 
"pigeon wing" again. The driver reported Keene 
as soon as he arrived in Amarillo. I was not in 
camp at that time, and he reported this to the 
rangers. Bob McClure, and one or two of the 
rangers, left at once and followed Keene out to the 
seven-mile windmill, where he had held the driver 
up. It commenced snowing and they returned to 
camp. I came in that night at twelve o'clock off 
a scout, and they laid this case before me. The 
next morning I took my saddle horse and one of 
the State mules and got a buggy, and, with Duncan 
Meredith, one of the rangers, I started out to find 
this man. The snow was nearly knee-deep to our 
team, and covered the ground everywhere in that 
part of the state and caused us to lose our way sev- 



82 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

eral times; but we succeeded in getting out, and 
about sixty-five miles west of Amarillo, at Jim 
Ivey's ranch, I captured Bob Keene. He was 
tried at Fort Graham for holding the stage up and 
detaining the United States mail, and was fined 
nearly a thousand dollars. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 83 

XXV 

Race Thomas is Guarded 

I was called by Hughes Tittle, the sheriff of 
Greer County, to assist him in holding a mob off 
Jeff Adams and Race Thomas, who had killed Mc- 
Muse. A mob of one hundred and fifty armed men 
tried to take these two men from the sheriff as he 
went to feed the prisoners. Hughes Tittle was 
such a noble man, and so well-known by this mob 
for his good qualities and bravery, that the mob 
would not take his life to get these criminals. 
Hughes wired me at Amarillo to come and assist 
him, in case the mob made another break. I went 
at once, and stayed there two months guarding the 
jail day and night, but the mob never returned. 

Race turned State's evidence, and Adams got a 
life sentence in the penitentiary, but was held six 
years in the Quanah jail while the authorities 
waited to see who had jurisdiction over Greer 
County — the State of Texas or the United States; 
but Uncle Sam finally fell heir to the county. Ad- 
ams went to the penitentiary for life. While in 
jail Adams used every means to make his escape. 
I was called on by the jailer of Quanah to help 
search the jail, when he found where Adams was 
cutting or sawing. At last we found his saw tied 
to him on the inside of his clothes. While bring- 
ing Adams from Mangum, he and Thomas tried 
every way possible to pick their shackles when 
night came on. We had a time getting Adams' 



81 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

shackles and handcuffs off, as he had broken off 
several toothpicks in the keyholes. 

We also held Race Thomas for a witness for six 
years. Uncle Sam agreed that the State of Texas 
was entitled to jurisdiction over Greer County at 
that time. I have not given the full details of this 
trial, as I do not deem it of importance to do so. 

Greer County is ninety miles long and seventy- 
eight miles wide. It is the largest county known 
in the world. At that time this county was run- 
ning over with all kinds of outlaws. While in the 
ranger service I only searched four caves, one in 
Greer County, one in the Indian Territory, across 
the North Fork of Red River, and two in Palo 
Pinto County. I always felt somewhat lonely 
while searching these caves. 

I was one of the rangers who helped to guard 
George Isaacs at Quanah, when he was sentenced 
to the pen for life for killing Tom McGee, the sher- 
iff of Hemphill County, at Canadian City. After 
he was sentenced I carried him to Fort Worth and 
jailed him for the contractor at the penitentiary 
to come and get him. He was pardoned out 
through a false pardon by a man by the name of 
Dent, who had served four years in the peniten- 
tiary. While in there he got acquainted with 
Isaacs. This was during Governor Sayers' ad- 
ministration. Governor Sayers was perfectly in- 
nocent of knowing anything of this pardon, or any- 
thing of Isaacs being out of the pen, until he was 
notified by Judge Sam Cowan, a lawyer who helped 
to prosecute him. The officers who helped hold 
this court and guard Isaacs during the trial, were 
Fred Dodge ; Captain Arrington, one of the old ex- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 85 

ranger captains; Charlie Stockton; Captain A. J. 
Paine; three Wells-Fargo men; Dick Cofer, the 
sheriff of Hardeman County , and myself; also sev- 
eral others — eighteen guards in all. 

This is just a small sketch of this. I have not 
gone into details in this case, as I have in some 
others. Dent was captured, tried for the killing 
of Tom McGee, and sentenced to the penitentiary 
for life, and is now serving his sentence. 



86 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XXVI 

A Sad Farewell 

I went to Canadian City one day after two pris- 
oners who were sentenced to the penitentiary. I 
was called upon to take them to Fort Worth and 
turn them over to an agent of the penitentiary, 
who was to take them from there to Huntsville, 
where the State prison is located. 

Reaching Canadian City, I went first to the ho- 
tel to get breakfast. As soon as I set my grip and 
Winchester down, I was approached by two ladies, 
who asked me if I had come after some prisoners. 
One of them was an old lady, while the other was 
rather young looking, and, from the worried ex- 
pressions on their faces, I took them to be the mo- 
ther and sister of Jim Long, one of the two prison- 
ers whom I had come after. Long was sentenced 
to the penitentiary for forging checks on a bank in 
Canadian City. 

Answering their question, I told the women that 
I had come after two prisoners to take them to the 
penitentiary. Both of them got up from their 
chairs and commenced to pacing up and down the 
floor, sighing and groaning. 

After I had eaten breakfast, the old lady told me 
that she was Jim Long's mother, and that the other 
lady was his wife. They asked me if they could 
stay at the jail with Long until the train arrived, 
and I told them that I thought it would be alright 
with the sheriff. Getting the sheriff's permission 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 87 

also, they stayed in the jail with the prisoner until 
nearly train time. 

When the time came for me to take the prison- 
ers from the jail, I handcuffed them together, and, 
with the sheriff and the two ladies, we started for 
the depot. The strain was too great for Long's 
wife, and she fainted as we were leaving the jail. 
Long's mother bore up pretty well under the or- 
deal, though it was quite an effort, but she did it 
on account of her daughter-in-law, who fainted 
two more times before we reached the depot. The 
old lady couldn't keep the tears back, however, and 
she walked all the way to the depot with her arms 
around her son. The sheriff and Long's wife 
walked behind us, the former trying his best to 
console Mrs. Long. 

When we reached the depot, Long's mother 
leaned over and whispered to me that she had sev- 
enty-five cents at the jail, and that she had given 
her son twenty-five cents, and wanted to give him 
the other fifty cents, too. She asked me my ad- 
vice about it, and I told her to give it to him if she 
wanted to. She gave the money to him, and when 
we reached the depot she told me that she and her 
daughter had return tickets to their home town, 
but that they owed a four days' hotel bill and had 
no money to pay it with. They seemed very much 
distressed about it, but I told them not to worry; 
that I would see that the bill was paid. I found 
the proprietor of the hotel in the depot and talked 
with him about the matter, and he agreed to knock 
off one-third of the bill. I then paid one of the re- 
maining thirds, and the sheriff paid the other, leav- 



88 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

ing them free of that debt. We saw that they ar- 
rived safely home, and it made us happy to think 
that we had soothed the broken hearts of two poor, 
unfortunate women. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 89 

XXVII 

A Clever Thief is Caught 

While at my post of duty in Amarillo, Captain 
W. J. McDonald told me to take whichever one of 
the ranger boys I wanted and go to a certain ranch 
in the Panhandle country and look after some cat- 
tle stealing that was alleged to be going on. I took 
Jeff Madkins, a ranger who had lately been enlisted 
in the service. I wanted to try his nerve, and I 
decided that this would be a good place, as this 
ranch was situated on the Texas and the Territory 
boundary line, and I knew that we would come in 
contact with many tough characters before we were 
through with our work in that part of the State. 

This cattle company boarded Madkins and me 
and our two horses, and gave us forty dollars 
apiece every month above what the State was giv- 
ing us. At that time I was corporal and drew 
thirty-five dollars a month regularly. 

Madkins and I rode every day for four months 
looking for cattle thieves. The superintendent of 
this ranch and his wife and son, all three, claimed 
that the nesters were stealing the cattle ; so we took 
particular pains to visit these nesters as often as we 
could, but failed to find any beef on their tables, or 
beef bones lying around the place; all the beef that 
we got to eat would be at the general round-ups. 
At these round-ups, one of the nesters would kill a 
calf today, and, in a day or two, another nester 
would kill one of his calves. Then the superin- 
tendent of the ranch would kill a beef. 



90 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

This superintendent was paying a high tax to 
the State for so many head of cattle. This Eng- 
lish company seemed to have gotten uneasy, for 
some reason, and sent from Austin, Texas, a man 
to investigate the condition of their ranch. He 
and I had a talk. I had at that time been there 
only two months. I had ridden this pasture out 
thoroughly everywhere, and had made close a in- 
vestigation, and I was prepared to answer this 
man's questions, and he interrogated me rather 
closely, too. He asked me how many cattle there 
were on the ranch that belonged to the company. 
I told him that I had ridden. the pasture for two 
months, and I didn't believe that there could be 
over fifteen hundred or two thousand head of cattle 
rounded up in that company's brand. 

What I said somewhat vexed this man, and he 
claimed that the company was paying taxes on 
eighteen or twenty thousand head of cattle. I 
told him the cattle were not on the ranch. He 
then asked me what I thought about the stealing 
that was going on. 

I told him that I thought there was very little 
stealing going on by the nesters, though some- 
times they might slip a calf, but it was seldom. 

Then he asked me about the lobo wolves, and I 
told him that I did not think they were bad; for I 
seldom ever saw a cow running across the prairie 
from one high peak to another bawling for her 
calf, and that I believed I could safely say to him 
that there was a mistake in regard to the nesters 
stealing the company out; but, if I stayed there 
long enough, I would catch the parties who were 
doing the stealing. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 91 

So I remained there two months longer, riding 
every day. The superintendent was furnished by 
the company all the horses that he and his wife and 
son needed to ride, and all the milk cows they 
wanted. Outside of that, however, they were not 
allowed to own a horse or a cow on the inside of 
that pasture. I began to suspect the superin- 
tendent, and one day, during a round-up, while I 
was sitting under a mesquite tree, the horse rang- 
ier, who had charge of the remouther, came up and 
talked with this superintendent for quite a while. 
It came to my mind, when this fellow rode up, that 
he might be able to give me some information as to 
whether the superintendent was acting fairly with 
the company or not ; so I took my day-book out of 
my pocket, and I told him that the old man and 
the old lady had promised time after time to give 
me their brands of the cattle which they owned 
themselves. This was not so, however, for the su- 
perintendent and his wife never had told me that 
they owned a cow or a calf inside of this pasture. 
They told me that all the cows that they needed to 
milk were furnished to them by the company, and 
the company would not allow them to own a cow 
and calf inside of the pasture. This remouther 
rangier dismounted, and took my day-book and 
wrote down a brand for the old man, a brand for 
his son, a brand for his daughter, and two brands 
that they had bought, making six brands the fam- 
ily owned inside the pasture. 

I took these brands to the bookkeeper, a nephew 
of the owner of the ranch, who just had sense 
enough outside of book-keeping to know that he 
was human. I asked him if the superintendent 



92 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

had any right to own brands in that pasture. He 
said that he was not allowed to own even one cow. 
I showed him the six brands which I had procured 
from the horse rangier, and asked him if he knew 
whether that superintendent was running those 
brands in his pasture. He said he did not know 
it, and did not think it could be possible. He 
asked me to give him the brands, which I did, and 
he sent them at once to England to his uncle. His 
uncle sent a man at once from England to investi- 
gate this matter. The man from England, after 
investigating the condition of affairs, was thor- 
oughly convinced that the superintendent and his 
family had stolen this ranch nearly out of cattle; 
so he fired the whole business off the ranch at once 
and put another man in his place. The new man- 
ager rounded the pasture up from one end to the 
other, and cut the company's cattle out to them- 
selves and counted them. He got the large sum 
of eleven hundred and twenty head. 

Madkins and I were invited one night by the 
former superintendent's wife to come up to her 
house. We accepted her invitation, and when we 
stepped into her room we hardly knew her, she was 
dressed in such fine style — diamonds in her ears, 
diamonds on her fingers, and diamonds on log chain 
bracelets, and a three-hundred-dollar scarf pin. 
She and Madkins and I seated ourselves around a 
beautiful table, while her husband lay on a fine 
sofa. 

Opening the conversation, the lady said, "Mr. 
Sullivan, what I wanted to see you about is in re- 
gard to seven men on the inside of these wires. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 93 

This stealing that is going on will never cease until 
the scalps of these seven men are taken." 

She then named the men over to us, and said 
that there was two thousand dollars apiece for the 
scalps of these seven men. She said she had the 
money ready to pay for their scalps as soon as they 
were turned over to her. 

I sat still and said nothing, but listened to her 
proposition. When she had finished, I looked at 
her and asked, "Did you aim that proposition at 
me?" 

"Not particularly at you, Mr. Sullivan," she re- 
plied, "but at anyone who sees fit to take it up. 
The money is ready now." 

I told her that the State of Texas didn't have me 
employed to take men's life and property, but to 
protect them, and that I was going to execute the 
law in the proper way. "If you or your husband, 
who is lying over there on the sofa, or your son 
should violate the laws of our state, I would arrest 
you as quickly as I would any other criminals." 

She saw that I was mad, and she said that she 
didn't mean her proposition to me, but for anyone 
who wanted to take it up. 

When we left the house, I told Madkins that I 
was a little too hasty in refusing to consider her 
proposition. "A character like that," I said, 
"ought to be in the penitentiary, and, as district 
court is in session, I shall lay the case before the 
judge and prosecuting attorney." 

I went to town the next morning and saw those 
two officials, and repeated the whole conversation 
which took place between the woman and me the 
night before. I told them that I was going back 



94 Twelve Years ia t the Saddle. 

and take up her proposition, and make her pay 
me half the money down and take her note for the 
balance, to be paid when the work was done. 
"Then I will turn the money over to you, judge/ 7 
I continued, "and we will prosecute that woman 
and put her in the penitentiary, where all such 
characters belong." 

The judge and the attorney both spoke up then, 
and said that I had made her mad and that I 
couldn't stand in with her any more. 

I told them that I could tell the woman that I 
refused to consider her proposition because she 
made it to me in the presence of the other ranger, 
whom I could not trust, since he was a new man 
in the company and I did not know him well 
enough. I told them again that I could make a 
trade with her, and we would get the papers and 
money for proof and send her to the penitentiary. 

Both of them begged me not to interfere with 
her, saying that she was crazy, or she would not 
have made that proposal to me. They finally per- 
suaded me not to get the woman into trouble, and 
I let the case stop where it was. 

It seemed, however, that she was bent on getting 
into the penitentiary before she was through. 

A certain man — one of the seven whom she 
wanted killed — lived in the pasture about a mile 
from her house. He had been in a shooting scrape 
with her son a year before, and one evening while 
sitting in front of my boarding house talking to 
two other boarders, I saw this man riding from the 
postoffice to his home. The woman lived about a 
block from where we were, and the man had to pass 
her house on his way home. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 95 

The woman had often told me that this man was 
always armed ; so on this occasion, as he rode by on 
his horse, I watched closely to see if I could see the 
print of his sixshooter. He had on a little blue 
jumper coat, and I could not see any sign of a gun 
being on him, though it would easily have made an 
impression on his little coat if he had been carrying 
one. 

As I was watching him ride slowly up the street, 
I noticed the woman, with a gun in her hand, stand- 
ing in the east corner of her yard, just a few steps 
from where the man whom she hated had to pass 
in another minute. 

I asked the man, who ran the boarding house, 
how long it had been since the man on the horse 
and the woman's son had met. 

He replied that they had never met since they 
had the shooting scrape. 

I suggested to the men that we watch and see if 
they speak. As we were on a line with them, we 
had no difficulty in seeing their movements. 

Neither one bowed nor spoke to the other. She 
watched him, but he never looked to the right nor 
left. He must have seen her before he reached the 
house, but while he was passing close by her he 
never turned his head in her direction, but looked 
straight in front of him. 

When he had passed her, she fired her gun twice 
across the road. He never even looked around to 
see if she was shooting at him, but rode straight 
ahead and soon went out of sight. 

It was nearly dark, and we three men were still 
sitting in the yard, when the woman came down 
to the gate where we were and asked for me. 



96 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

I went to the gate, and she proposed that we 
walk up the road, saying that she wished to talk 
with me. After walking about forty steps, she 
turned to me and asked, "Mr. Sullivan, what do 
you reckon?" 

I told her I didn't know. 

She then referred to the man whom I had seen 
on horseback, and said,* "I was standing in the east 
corner of my yard awhile ago, and that dirty vil- 
lain passed by and jerked out a rubber handled, 
blue barrel sixshooter and threw it cocked in my 
face." 

I asked her why she didn't scream or notify me, 
so I could arrest the man and get his gun. 

"The reason why I didn't," she replied, "was 
that I thought it best for you and me to get in my 
buggy and go to town in the morning, and I will 
swear out three . complaints against him ; one for 
assaulting me with a sixshooter, one for carrying 
a sixshooter, and I will also have him put under a 
peace bond." 

After telling her I would see her the next morn- 
ing, I joined the two men whom I left a few min- 
utes before and told them what the woman had 
said. They said that they had watched every 
movement that she and the man made when the 
man passed her house, and that they could swear 
that the woman's statements were opposite to the 
truth. I then announced my intention of going 
to town with the woman, and letting her swear out 
the complaints against the man. I explained that 
such a character should be in the penitentiary, and 
that it was fortunate that there was a way of get- 
ting her in there. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 97 

The two men, however, begged me not to do 
that, saying that they did not want to see the 
woman get into trouble. I laid the case before a 
merchant, who, I afterward learned, sold lots of 
goods to this woman, and he begged me not to let 
the woman perjure herself. 

I finally decided, myself, that it was not best to 
let the woman get into so much trouble, but I went 
to her house the next morning as I had promised, 
and asked her if she was ready to go to town. 

She said she was ready to go right away and 
swear out the complaints. 

I then told her that two other men besides my- 
self had watched every movement that she and the 
man made when he passed her house, and that we 
were ready to swear that her charges were false as 
soon as she swore to them. 

"Mr. Sullivan," she replied, "let's drop the mat- 
ter where it is, and let it go and say no more about 
it." 

I told her that that was the safest way for her 
to do ; that the penitentiary would have gotten her 
if she had sworn out those charges against that 
man. 



98 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XXVIII 

The Gordon Train Robbery 

While at my headquarters I received a message 
from Adjutant General Mabry at Austin, notify- 
ing me that a train was held up on the T. & P. 
Railroad, four miles east of Gordon, by four train 
robbers. Superintendent J. V. Goode, of that rail- 
road, gave me transportation for eight men and 
eight horses and saddles, and I left at once for Gor- 
don, taking with me Bob McClure, Jim Wise, Lee 
Queen, Billie McCauley, Jack Harwell, Arthur 
Jones and Vernon Resser, all rangers. W^e arrived 
in Gordon that night and put up at the hotel. 

The next morning the proprietor of the hotel 
told me that there was a Jake Smith, who lived in 
the country, who looked rather suspicious to him. 
He said that when the train robbery was an- 
nounced in the hotel, he noticed Jake Smith turn- 
ing pale and becoming rather nervous. "Jake 
made the remark/' continued the hotel man, "that 
he bet the robbers had gone north." 

I asked the proprietor if Jake ever came to town 
much, or was it rather unusual for him to be in 
town and stopping at the hotel. He replied that 
Jake hadn't been in Gordon before in two years. 

We started out early the next morning to the 
country to look for the robbers. On account of 
what the hotel man had told me, I went to Jake 
Smith's house, but before reaching there I pro- 
cured some more information concerning Smith. 
I learned, among other things, that two suspicious 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 99 

characters had been staying around Smith's place, 
and that one of them was wounded and remained 
there about six weeks. The sick man went by the 
name of Wilson, and it was presumed that he was 
shot while robbing some train or store. I was 
pretty well prepared for Jake when I first reached 
his house, but I didn't let him know it. 

I shook hands with Jake, and told him that I 
knew very little about the country, and that I 
wanted him to pilot me to a place called Board 
Tree Springs. He said he would take me there, 
and we tramped all day through the rocks and 
brush, and walked and rode around the many 
crooks and turns of the Brazos River, not reaching 
Board Tree Springs until late that evening. He 
could have taken us there in a half hour if he had 
wished to do so, as it was only a mile and a half 
from his house ; but Jake did not want to find these 
springs any sooner than he could help, for he knew 
that we would discover something there. 

When we reached the springs we found four 
pallets, made of sage grass, spread upon the ground 
where four men had slept. The pallets were about 
twenty feet apart, and we saw that they had tied 
four horses up for a long time. 

We learned afterward that the robbers had con- 
cealed themselves at this place, and that they 
waited there for Wilson, the wounded man who 
stopped with Jake Smith, to get well enough to 
join them and help them rob the T. & P. train. 
After Wilson got well they had to wait then for 
the train that was to bring the money to pay off 
the coal miners at Thurber. 

A little while before the train was to pass by 



100 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

with its fifty thousand dollars, the robbers cap- 
tured the section hands and forced them to spread 
the rails about nine inches. Then they made the 
hands walk up the track about a hundred yards 
away from the spreading of the rails, and when the 
train arrived they ordered Lockerby, the section 
foreman, to flag it. When the train stopped, the 
robbers jumped into the express car to take the 
fifty thousand dollars out, but failed to get it, as 
the money was in a Thurber safe, which had a time 
lock on it. They carried off two thousand dollars, 
however, that they found in another safe which 
was smaller than the Thurber safe and more easily 
opened. 

The train pulled into Gordon an hour late, and 
the conductor reported the robbery to the officers, 
and, as already stated, I was then ordered by Ad- 
jutant General Mabry to do all I could to run down 
the robbers. Governor James S. Hogg was on the 
train when it was held up. 

When we reached Board Tree Springs we found 
a large bay horse, branded low down on his left 
thigh with a letter E. This horse was shod with 
new shoes, but his feet were terribly cut and 
bruised around the hoofs. They had run him over 
the hills and rocks until he was unable to travel any 
longer. The robbers then stole a Paint horse and 
rode him out and left the bay. 

In a live oak thicket, near where the men had 
done their cooking, I found two boxes, a coffee pot, 
frying pan, skillet and a water bucket. 

Jake Smith claimed that the first day they came 
to his house there were only two men, and he said 
they told him that they wanted to find a pasture 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 101 

for twelve or fifteen hundred head of cattle. Jake 
said that the men borrowed the cooking utensils 
which we found in the thicket from him. He also 
explained Wilson's presence in his house, by say- 
ing that the latter came to him and claimed to be 
suffering with a rising, and he felt sorry for him and 
let him stay in his house. 

I also found a nail apron, with sugar in one end 
of it and salt in the other. A carpenter was work- 
ing on Smith's house when the two men first took 
dinner there, and while the wounded man was 
boarding with Smith. Upon opening the two 
boxes which I found, I discovered some soda in a 
lady's dress sleeve, and some new clothes with cost 
marks still on them. I learned that a store had 
been robbed about eighteen miles from there, and 
I notified the merchant of my discovery, and he 
identified the articles as some of his merchandise 
and took them back with him. On the two boxes, 
which we opened, we found written in big letters 
this warning: "Look out for small-pox." 

All this proved to us that the men were guilty, 
and that Jake Smith had aided them somewhat in 
their work ; so I told Jake that he was under arrest, 
but I kept him in the mountains eleven days before 
I took him to jail. 

After arresting Smith I went on that evening to 
Jack Scott's house to arrest him, too. When we 
arrived at his house, Mrs. Scott informed us that 
her husband was down at Bill Hitson's, near the 
river, helping to brand cattle. Our party at that 
time consisted of eighteen men, and I did not want 
to take so many to Mr. Hitson's, so I asked Mrs. 
Scott if she could keep nine men for me that night, 



102 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

and she replied that she could. I left them there, 
and the other eight men and myself started for Bill 
Hitson's place. 

When we were half way there we met three cow- 
boys, and I spoke to them and asked if one of them 
was Jack Scott. One man spoke up and said he 
was Scott ; so I put him under arrest and took him 
back to Bill Hitson's with me, and let the other two 
cowboys go. 

The nine men whom I had left at Mrs. Scott's 
came up and told me that the two cowboys, who 
were with Scott a little while before, had reported 
to Mrs. Scott that I had arrested her husband, and 
she ordered them off the place, saying that she 
did not want them to roost under her roof. Hitson 
had to take care of all eighteen of us, but he did 
not seem to mind it and treated us nicely. 

I didn't let Smith and Scott get together, for I 
did not want them to "make medicine. " I went 
back to Scott's house the next morning with him, 
and offered him five hundred dollars if he would 
tell me the names of the guilty parties, but Scott 
replied that he did not know any more than I did 
about the affair. I got him to walk with me back 
to the bunch of men where Smith was. When we 
got close enough for Smith to hear me, I said to 
Scott, "I thank you for giving me so much infor- 
mation about the guilty parties." 

I watched Smith closely to see what effect that 
would have on him. He turned pale at first, and 
in another minute perspiration began to pour off 
his face. I looked around over the boys, and acted 
as if I was quite particular about whom I selected, 
and told Bob McClure and Lee Queen to guard 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 103 

Jake carefully ; that we surely did not want him to 
escape. After I had handcuffed Jake, we mounted 
our horses and rode off, Jake and I riding close to 
each other. 

Jake asked me what Jack Scott had told me. I 
replied that Scott had informed me that he (Jake) 
had harbored the men who robbed the store and 
the express car. He said that Scott was a liar. 

I saw all the time that he was worried, and I 
tried hard to make him break down and give me 
the names and whereabouts of the robbers, prom- 
ising to release him if he did so, but he would not 
do it. 

When we reached Smith's house, I left Jake out- 
side with the others, and took Jim Wise, a ranger, 
into the house where Mrs. Smith, her daughter, and 
three young men were. 

I asked Mrs. Smith if these three men were her 
sons. 

"Two of them are/' she replied. 

"I want to talk to the oldest one," I said, and 
she consented. 

The young man stepped forward, and I informed 
him that his father was under arrest for being an 
accessory to the Gordon train robbery. I told him 
that his father had informed me that he had let the 
robbers have a bucket, some cooking utensils, some 
flour and some meat, but he could not remember 
whether it was a ham or a shoulder. 

"It was a ham/' said the boy. 

I told him that his father couldn't remember the 
dates when he did these things, but asked me to see 
his sons about it, saying they could remember such 
things better than he could. 



104 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

"I remember when the things occurred/' replied - 
the boy, "but I cannot remember the dates, though 
I think my brother can give you that information." 

I called his brother then, but he couldn't remem- 
ber the dates either. He, however, also said what 
I wanted him to. Like his brother, he did not sus- 
pect my purpose, and told me that he knew these 
things happened, but could not remember the 
dates. 

Mr. Smith's family seemed to be very nice peo- 
ple. Mrs. Smith sat still during my conversation 
with her son, and when I was through with him, I 
told her that everything pointed to her husband's 
guilt. She made no reply, but I could tell what 
she and her children were thinking, from the sig- 
nificant expression on their faces. Their count- 
enances seemed to say in words: " Father, hus- 
band, you should not have stood in with Bill, the 
crippled robber, and, if you hadn't, you would not 
be in such a bad shape now." 

Captain Lightfoot, an officer from Thurber, and 
I took Smith to Dallas and lodged him in the 
county jail. When he entered the jail he turned 
over all the money he had with him, except two 
dollars, to the jailer. Because he broke into the 
Dallas County jail with the small sum of two dol- 
lars, the jail-birds flogged Smith soundly, and, 
stripping him, poured a pitcher of icewater on him. 

Smith was tried for his part in the robbery, but 
was acquitted, though the common belief was that 
he was guilty. McCall, a prominent attorney of 
Weatherford, represented him. 

After disposing of Smith, I returned to the 
mountains to capture the four robbers. One 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 105 

night while some of us rangers were in a mesquite 
flat, we looked up and saw four men coming down 
off a mountain. I told my boys that they must 
be the robbers, and, when the men got closer, we 
heard them say something about us being rangers. 
Then, believing more firmly than ever that they 
were the robbers, we charged them, but when we 
arrived within fifty yards of them, a man in the 
crowd called out to me that he was Sheriff Williams 
of Young County. They were looking for the same 
robbers that we were, so we joined forces and went 
to Hitson's ranch to spend the rest of the night. 

We were in a mighty rough country to hunt 
criminals, and were very much handicapped in that 
respect. We were told, upon good authority, that 
there were three hundred and eleven miles of 
crooks and bends in the Brazos River in Palo Pinto 
County, while it is only thirty miles straight across. 
No one can imagine how rough it was up and down 
that river, unless he has been there long enough to 
see it for himself. It was hard on us rangers, com- 
ing, as we did, off the plains in August and dropping 
down into these hills, rocks, cat-claws and prickly 
pears at such a dreadful time of the year. 

We learned some time after we first visited 
Board Tree Springs that there was a cave about 
seventy-five yards from there which led under a 
hill. We thought it possible for the robbers to be 
in that cave; so we entered it and searched thor- 
oughly for the men, but failed to find them. It 
was such a gloomy looking place in there that we 
drew straws to see who were to go in, and it fell on 
Arthur Jones and me. The cave was about seven 
feet high and eight feet wide, and extended back 



106 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

about a hundred yards. Arthur and I searched 
every crook and corner, and discovered many 
rocks, some of them weighing from sixty to a hun- 
dred tons. With our sixshooters cocked and ready 
for action, we looked behind every large rock, and 
were disappointed every time we failed to find the 
robbers. 

While we were going out of the cave we heard 
the sound of money and heard the boys outside 
calling out to us that they had found money. 
Arthur and I both broke for the entrance, and be- 
fore we got out we heard one of the boys say, "It's" 
a twenty-dollar bill." Our lights went out, but 
we did not stop running. We ran into so many 
rocks, however, that we were skinned up and 
bruised from head to foot and looked as if we had 
been in an Irish battle. When we reached the out- 
side the boys gave us the horse laugh, and we were 
confronted with the cold fact that it was all a joke. 

We stayed in that country for some time after 
that, but were finally forced to abandon our chase, 
as luck was entirely against us. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 107 

XXIX 

The Surrender of Four Train Robbers 

On the night of November 14, 1895, being at 
headquarters camp at Amarillo, on the Fort 
Worth & Denver Railroad, I received a telegram 
from George Leftrick notifying me that six well- 
armed men, whose actions were suspicious, were 
camped in Sid Webb's pasture, twelve miles south 
of Bellview, Clay County, Texas. 

I had just returned with seven mounted men 
from an unsuccessful search, lasting eighteen days, 
on the Brazos River and in the Palo Pinto moun- 
tains, for four men who had held up a Texas & Pa- 
cific train, four miles east of Gordon, in Palo Pinto 
County. 

Knowing that a train robbery had been com- 
mitted at Red Fork some time previously, and sus- 
pecting that these men mentioned by Leftrick were 
the robbers, I took Billy McCauley, Jim Wise, Doc 
Neeley, Jack Howell and Bob McClure and left for 
Bellview, shipping our saddles on the train. On 
arriving within two and one-half miles of Bellview, 
I got George Thorn, the conductor, to stop the 
train, and four of us got off, taking our saddles. 
Concealing ourselves, we sent word to Leftrick by 
the other men, informing him of our location, and 
requesting him to come and bring horses for the 
party. 

When Leftrick arrived I asked him to guide us 
to the house where the six men were. When we 
had gotten within two and one-half miles of the 



108 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

house, I saw a man on horseback, some distance 
off; and he discovered us about the same time, and 
raised his head and watched us. We were riding 
fast, and I told the boys to slow their horses and I 
would investigate the man. When I started to- 
ward him, he broke, and, when he did so, I mo- 
tioned to the boys to come on. I soon came to a 
four-barbed wire fence, which I cut, letting the 
boys through, who came up just as I finished cut- 
ting the wires. I mounted my horse again, and 
we captured the man after chasing him a mile and 
a half. He was also wanted; so I arrested and 
handcuffed him and took him with us to within 
two hundred and fifty yards of the house where the 
six men were encamped. 

When Lef trick showed me the house I turned 
the prisoner over to Doc Neeley, one of the rang- 
ers, with instructions to hold him there, and, tell- 
ing the others good-bye, I ran my horse to the 
house, my men all following. When I reached the 
house I got off my horse, leaving the reins over his 
head. I took hold of the door knob, and, as I did 
so, the men in the house held the knob on the in- 
side and fired two shots through the door, the bul- 
lets passing between my legs. I stepped back 
about four or five feet from the door and ordered 
the boys to fire through the door, and we emptied 
our Winchesters and sixshooters. Billy McCauley 
and Jim Wise were in front of the house with me, 
and Bob McClure and Jack Harvell and Leftrick 
were at the back of the house behind a dugout. 
As I knew the balls we were firing through the 
door would go entirely through the house, I told 
Billy McCauley to go behind the house and tell the 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 109 

other three men to come to the front, as they were 
not needed back there, there being no windows or 
doors in the back of the house. After we had emp- 
tied our Winchesters and sixshooters, McCauley 
and Wise stepped behind a rock chimney to reload, 
and I walked backward to an old wagon that stood 
about twelve steps from and in front of the door of 
the house. I reloaded my Winchester and six- 
shooter, watching the house all the time. 

By this time the men on the inside had gone up 
into a loft in the house. We afterward learned 
that while they were downstairs we shot the hat 
off one of the men's heads, and a bullet grazed the 
neck of one of the men, cutting his coat collar and 
shirt. When they reached the loft they began 
fighting us from there. After I had reloaded I 
motioned to Billy McCauley and Jim Wise to come 
to me. Jim didn't come, but Billy joined me, and 
asked me what I intended to do. We were then 
about six feet from the door. 

"I am going to break the door down and go in," 
I said. 

" Isn't that very dangerous?" asked Billy. 

"Yes," I replied, "but it is just as dangerous 
here. We have to get them, and that is the only 
way." 

I then broke the door open and sprang into the 
house, Billy following me. I saw that the floor of 
the loft was made of plank an inch thick, with no 
opening except where a ladder led from the bottom 
floor to the loft. After Billy and I had gotten in- 
side the house, and after I realized our dangerous 
situation, I told him to go outside or he would 
likely be killed ; for he was a brave young man who 



110 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

I knew would not desert me. I tried to persuade 
him to leave the house, for I realized that if he was 
killed, I would be partly responsible for it, having 
asked him to come in the house with me, but he re- 
fused to go, and said he was in there to stay, and 
if I died he would die also. 

Just before we entered the house, I placed my 
left foot on the bottom round of the ladder leading 
into the loft, threw a cartridge into my Winchester, 
and shouted to the men above me that I was in 
there with them. They asked who I was, and I 
told them my name, and stated that we were Texas 
rangers and I wanted them to surrender. 

Their leader, who went by the name of 
"Skeeter," then said to me that they would never 
surrender. I told him I had the house surrounded 
by my men and there was no chance of escape, but 
that if they didn't come out and surrender I would 
set fire to the house and fire them out like rats; 
while if they surrendered they would not be hurt. 
One of the men then told me he would give up, and 
"Skeeter" said to him, "If you surrender, I'll kill 

you." 

"If that man wants to surrender," I said, "and 
you kill him, I will burn you at the stake." Of 
course this was a bluff, as far as the burning part 
was concerned, but I was determined if this man 
wanted to surrender he should not be hurt. 

"I am coming," said the man who offered to sur- 
render. 

"Be quiet while I talk to you," I replied. "Let 
me see your hands up to your elbows before I see 
your body, or you are a dead man. Don't attempt 
to deceive me and try to take advantage of me, for 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. Ill 

I have the advantage of you. I have a cartridge 
in my Winchester, my finger on the trigger, and my 
hammer gone after fire." 

"Here I come/' he said. 

"Let me see your hands up to your elbows first/' 
I replied. 

He did so, and I arrested him, and also arrested 
the other men in the same manner, and turned 
them over, one by one, to Billy McCauley as I ar- 
rested them. When I had finished, we went out- 
side the house to the spot where I left Doc Neeley, 
about two hundred and fifty yards away, with the 
other prisoner. I took the handcuffs off this man 
and handcuffed the two strongest men together. 

My horse, and those of nearly all my men, ran 
away during the fight. I had a pair of handcuffs 
and a pair of shackles in my saddle packets. I had 
one of the rangers go after the horses, and he found 
them nearly four miles away from where we were, 
in the corner of a barbed wire fence. When he re- 
turned, we hitched the prisoners' horses to a little 
wagon and took the prisoners to Bellview, and that 
night we put them on the train and took them to 
Wichita Falls. Besides the men, we also captured 
six Winchesters, four sixshooters, eight belts, one 
thousand rounds of cartridges, twenty-five Cali- 
fornia blankets, and a new saddle and bridle they 
had stolen from a man by the name of McDermott. 

The man who owned the house in which we cap- 
tured the men, asked Cooper Wright, the sheriff of 
Clay County, if he could not recover damages from 
the State on account of his house being shot and 
torn up; but the sheriff advised him to keep quiet, 
stating that if I heard he was talking of making a 



11? Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

complaint against me, I would arrest him for allow- 
ing such characters to stay in his house, and he took 
this advise. 

The four men, whom we captured, belonged to 
Bill Cook's party of six. The other two men, Bill 
Cook and Jim Turner, at the time of the capture of 
the four men mentioned above, had left the camp 
before we arrived, in order to locate a place where 
they could hold up the Fort Worth & Denver train, 
and also the Rock Island train, on the 17th day of 
November, 1895. When I arrested the four men 
at the camp, Bill Cook and Jim Turner were on the 
way back to camp, having perfected their plans to 
hold up the two trains, and were within a half mile 
from the camp at the time of the fight, but upon 
hearing the snooting they thought it best not to 
come to the camp. 

The four men whom we captured were tried at 
Fort Smith, Arkansas, for the two train robberies 
and a postoffice robbery. Charley Turner turned 
State's evidence and his case was dismissed, but 
the other three men plead guilty and were sent to 
Sing Sing for thirty and twenty years each. We 
got eight hundred and fifty dollars for their cap- 
ture. 




"BILL COOK" 

The noted Train Robber — Sente ice! to prison at Albany, N. Y. 
Served five years and died. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 113 

XXX 

The Pursuit of Bill Cook and Jim Turner 

Immediately after the trial of the four robbers 
whom we captured in Sid Webb's pasture, I got my 
men together and started out after Bill Cook and 
Jim Turner. I went to Jack County, and while 
searching in that part of the country I went to the 
home of a Mr. Snyder. Jim Turner's father was 
living there at that time, he being Mrs. Snyder's 
brother. When my men and I reached the house, 
Mr. Snyder, Mr. Turner and another man came to 
the door, and I told them to come to where I was, 
which they did. I asked them if Bill Cook and Jim 
Turner were in the house, and they told me there 
was no male person in the house. I told my men, 
however, to stay where they were and hold these 
three men, and I would search the house. 

When I reached the door Mrs. Snyder told me 
to leave my Winchester out of doors, but I told her 
to please step out of the door, and she did so. I 
entered the house, searched one room, but found 
no one. When I entered the room where Mrs. 
Snyder was, I noticed a large object under the 
cover of a bed in that room, and there was a small 
part of the brim of a hat visible from under the 
edge of the cover. I had my Winchester in my 
right hand, and with my left I jerked the cover 
back. As I did so, the fellow swore he would fight 
every one of us, and used profane language to give 
weight to his words. When he made this remark 
I cocked my Winchester and placed the end of it 



114 Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 

in his mouth. My men heard this man when he 
spoke, and heard the rattle of my Winchester, so 
they rushed in. Mrs. Snyder was wiping out a 
heavy tin biscuit pan, and when she saw my boys 
coming in, and saw the dangerous position of the 
man in the bed, she hit me over the head as hard 
as she could with this pan, and said to me, "You 
came near killing my son." When I collected my 
wits and got my hat back on my head, I told my 
men to go to my horse and get my handcuffs and 
shackles, and that I would handcuff this man and 
shackle the old lady, and take them to Jacksboro. 
She told me if I would not arrest her she would sit 
down and behave herself, and I told her if she 
would do so, it would be alright. The three men 
then came to the door, and Mr. Turner fell and 
asked Mrs. Snyder for the camphor, saying he had 
palpitation of the heart. I said to him, "You old 
villain, you told me such a lie, I have a good notion 
to give you palpitation of the head." He then said 
that that man in the bed was Mrs. Snyder's son, 
but that he had forgotten about him being in the 
house; that he had been to Bowie, gotten drunk, 
and they thought my men and I were officers from 
Bowie who had come to arrest him. I then re- 
leased this man and left, having seen nothing of 
Cook and Turner. 

On December 22, 1896, I received a letter from 
J. H. Harkey, sheriff of Dickens County, stating 
that there were two suspicious characters in his 
town (Dickens), and from the descriptions he gave 
I was confident that they were the two men I 
wanted. My men and I went to Childress, ship- 
ping our horses, and then rode from there across 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 115 

the country to Dickens, one hundred and twenty- 
five miles away. When we arrived at Dickens, 
Sheriff Jeff Harkey again described the two men 
to me, and I was still more confident that they 
were the two men I was after. The sheriff said 
they had left Dickens and had gone to Scurry 
County. He consented to go to Scurry County 
with us, which was one hundred and twenty-five 
miles from Dickens. After we arrived in Scurry 
County we went to Mitchell's ranch — the Square 
and Compass, by name — which was about fifty 
miles southwest of Snyder, Scurry County. Here 
we received information from John and Jim Mitch- 
ell in regard to Bill Cook, alias Mayfield, and Jim 
Turner, and they told us the two men had been at 
their ranch, but that they had gone to Green 
IgokTs ranch, one hundred miles from there. 

I had sent back all but two of my men at Dick- 
ens, keeping Billy McCauley and Vernon Resser. 
Deputy Sheriff Ira Gooch joined me at Snyder, 
Scurry County. Norman Rogers, the sheriff of 
Kent County, also joined me. Sheriff Harkey left 
me eight miles from Gail, Borden County; his horse 
being sick. 

When I started to Green IgokTs ranch, I had 
with me only three men, Sheriff Rogers, Deputy 
Ira Cooch and Vernon Resser, Billy McCauley be- 
ing forced to stop at Pete Scroggin's ranch, his 
horse having given out. When we reached 
IgokTs ranch we hitched our horses and started to 
the house, where we saw Igold standing in the 
door and five men standing at the window. I told 
my men to keep an eye on the parties at the win- 
dow while I had a talk with Igold. When I 



116 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

started toward Igold he said that I must leave 
my Winchester out of doors. I told him to get 
out of the door, which he did, and I entered the 
house. I asked him if those were his men stand- 
ing at the window, and he replied that they were. 
I then asked him if Jim Dillard was there, and he 
said he was. I told Dillard to step out of the 
crowd, which he did, and I arrested him, as he was 
wanted at Colorado City for " shooting up the 
town." He and Joe Elkins and Jim Turner had 
been arrested by a deputy sheriff at Colorado City, 
but they had escaped. 

I learned from Igold and his men that Cook 
and Turner had been there, but had left several 
days before. I took Jim Dillard and started back 
to Pete Scroggin's ranch, where we were to spend 
the night. On the way there I met Joe Elkins, 
who was with some cowboys driving a bunch of 
cattle. I arrested him, also, and took him with 
me to Scroggin's. 

The next morning I told these two men if they 
would tell me where Bill Cook and Jim Turner 
went when they left Igold' s ranch, and their 
plans, that I would release them. They accepted 
this proposition, and told me that Cook went to 
Roswell, New Mexico, and Turner went to Colo- 
rado City to meet his sweetheart, Zettie Sweezer, 
where they were to be married; that Bill Cook's 
sweetheart and his sister were to join him at Ros- 
well, and that Turner was captured in Colorado 
City, but made his escape. The young lady after- 
ward located him, and they were married in Big 
Springs, and went to Roswell. They lived there 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 11? 

three months, when Turner was arrested and jailed 
at Fort Smith, Arkansas. 

When I was at Mitchell's ranch, as stated, I 
learned that there was a letter in the postoffice at 
Grassland, Texas, in care of the Square and Com- 
pass ranch, for Jim Turner. My men and I were 
almost broken down, so I got John Mitchell to get 
the letter for me, of which the following is a copy : 

"Roswell, N. M., Dec. 25, 1894. 
''Mr. James Turner, 

"Grasslands, Lynn Co., Tex. 
"Sir: We received your letter yesterday that 
you wrote to San tie. You wanted to know where he 
is. He left here last May, and started to the In- 
dian Territory. We have some kinfolks there. 
We have never heard of him yet. I will close. Mama 
said she would write to you, but she is getting very 
old, and cannot see. Hope you all have good luck. 
It seems like I know you; I have heard San tie 
speak of you so much. 

^" Yours respectfully, 
"Della Harris, 

"Roswell, Chaves Co., 

"New Mexico." 

pi When I captured Bill Cook's four men, as I have 
already related, I found on one of them a list of 
fourteen men who had participated in four rob- 
beries with Bill Cook. One of the names on the 
list was Santie Harris. By getting the above let- 
ter, I obtained a clew as to Harris' whereabouts, 
and it also led me to believe that if Bill Cook was 
in Roswell, as I had been informed, he would likely 



118 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

be at the Harris home, or, if not there, they could 
doubtless tell me where he was. 

My men and horse were completely worn out; 
so I took them to Colorado City, and sent them by 
rail to headquarters at Amarillo. I then went to 
Roswell, but to keep from attracting attention, I 
went alone to the courthouse, where I spent the 
day, having my dinner brought to me, so I would 
not be seen during the day. When night came on 
I asked the sheriff if he knew a family in Roswell 
by the name of Harris, and he answered that he 
did. About eight o'clock that night I asked him 
to show me their house. He went with me until 
we were about seventy yards from the house. 
Then he stopped and pointed it out to me, but 
would go no further. After telling him to wait for 
me at the courthouse, I entered the gate at the 
Harris home, and was about to close it when a 
man came up, and I asked him if Mrs. Harris lived 
there, he replying that she did, as she was an aunt 
of his. I asked him to tell her I wished to speak 
to her, and, after he had done so, she came to the 
door and asked me in, but I told her I preferred to 
talk to her at the gate. She then came to where 
I was standing and told me she was Mrs. Harris. 
I told her my name was Bob Turner, Jim Turner's 
brother; that Jim had promised to meet me at her 
house, and a friend of mine by the name of Will- 
iams, or probably May field, had also promised to 
meet me there, and if my friend had been to her 
house, she had likely learned that the names Will- 
iams and Mayfield were his aliases, and she had 
probably learned his real name. She replied, say- 
ing that my brother Jim had not been there, but 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 119 

my friend had been, and that his real name was 
Bill Cook; that he had arrived there Thursday 
at noon, and left Friday morning before sunrise. 
I asked her if he told her to tell me where to meet 
him, and she said he didn't mention Bob's name, 
but said to tell brother Jim to meet him at a ranch, 
the name of which she had forgotten, but it was 
just to the right of White Oaks. I then told her 
that some of our party had been captured on the 
Texas and the Indian Territory line, and also said 
I had heard her son, Santie, speak of her daughter 
very often. The man I met at the gate and Mrs. 
Harris' daughter were in the house, and heard me 
make the remark about Santie speaking of his 
sister, and they then came to the door and the man 
said, "this is Delia, now." I then told her about 
seeing her brother, and Mrs. Harris asked me 
where I saw Santie. I replied that he joined us 
last May, and she then denied his ever being out 
of New Mexico, but said he was then about fifty 
miles from there, with his father, herding cattle. 
The man and the girl standing in the door then 
spoke up and said, "Why, mother, you ought to be 
ashamed to tell that man that; he is alright," but 
she told them to keep quiet. I said I would not 
argue about Santie, but I would like for them to 
show me the way to White Oaks. I then shook 
hands with all of them, and asking them not to 
mention having seen me, I started toward the 
mountain. 

After I had gotten out of sight, I turned and 
went to the courthouse, where I explained to Perry 
all that I had learned from Mrs. Harris in regard 
to Bill Cook, and told him to get a buggy and a 



120 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

pair of the best horses he could find, and we would 
go to White Oaks on the following morning and 
capture Cook, White Oaks being one hundred 
miles from Roswell. I told Perry I had been fol- 
lowing Cook so long that I was completely worn 
out, and I had to have some sleep that night be- 
fore I could go to White Oaks, but that I would be 
ready to go with him at daylight. 

The next morning I learned that Perry had got- 
ten another man and left for White Oaks that night 
about midnight. If I had been in my own juris- 
diction, I would have gone to White Oaks that 
morning alone, but being outside the Sate of Texas, 
I had to have the assistance of some New Mexico 
officer before I could arrest a man. I therefore 
asked ex-sheriff Billy Adkins to go with me to 
White Oaks, explaining to him the wa}^ Perry had 
treated me, and he said he would be glad to ac- 
commodate me, as I had assisted him in Texas sev- 
eral times, but that if he did so it would cause trou- 
ble between him and Sheriff Perry. 

Being unable to get anyone to go with me to 
White Oaks, I decided to go to El Paso, thinking 
it probable that Perry w T ould not find Cook, and 
that he (Cook) would go to El Paso. At Eddy I 
learned that a man had been placed in jail there a 
short time before ; so I stopped over, thinking, per- 
haps, this man was Jim Turner, as I was told he 
was heavily armed; but on going to the jail I found 
he was not Turner, but was a man whom I had 
seen at Thurber, Texas, some time before. 

The train having left me, I had to stay in Eddy 
until the next morning, and that night the sheriff 
and I searched Eddy and another small place a 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 121 

mile from there, thinking we might find Jim 
Turner, but we failed to do so. 

The next evening I left for El Paso. Captain 
J. H. Hughes was camped at Ysleta, twenty miles 
from El Paso, and I wired him to meet me at the 
train and go to El Paso with me, wihch he did. 
We made a thorough search, both in El Paso and 
across the river — in Old Mexico, but did not find 
Cook. That night I heard that Cook had been cap- 
tured at White Oaks by Sheriff Perry; but it was' 
no surprise to me. I boarded the east-bound 
train and went back to Pecos, where I met the 
train Cook was on. I found him with Perry, Tom 
Love and one McMurray, of Colorado City. Perry 
was standing on the platform of the train, and I 
went up to him and said, "You have treated me 
worse than any honorable officer would treat an- 
other." I also told him that was a dirty game he 
played on me in Roswell. He did not say a word, 
went into the car where Cook was. I followed 
him and saw Cook in chains, facing me. I spoke 
to him, calling him by his name, and he said, 
" Howdy, John L." On my asking him how he 
knew me, he replied he had had me described to 
him very often. Then he wished to know how I 
happened to recognize him, and I told him I had 
had his description a long time, but that I believed 
I would not have known him if it had not been for 
the squint in his left eye. 

Perry and his men had walked back to the rear 
of the car, and Cook said to me : " Those men have 
gone back there to 'make medicine' against you; 
for they have all said they intended to beat you 



122 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

out of the reward and honor of my capture, which 
I think you justly deserve, for you have simply 
lived on my trail.' ' 

"Is your Winchester a .45-. 90?" he then asked. 

"Yes," I replied. 

"Well, that is my gun, and I suppose you cap- 
tured it when you captured my four men. I 
bought four of those guns at the same time, one 
for myself, one for brother Jim, one for Cherokee 
Bill, and one for Jim French, costing me eighteen 
dollars at the factory." 

"Where were you at the time I captured your 
four men?" I asked 

"I was about half a mile from you. Jim Turner 
and I had been out planning to rob the Fort Worth 
& Denver and the Rock Island trains, and were 
just returning to camp. Didn't you find a money 
sack made of ducking, with a train bellcord worked 
in the top like a tobacco sack? We were going to 
put the money in that sack when we held up the 
trains." 

"Yes, I found it," I replied, "I have it at my 
camp." 

I then said to Cook, "Bill, you know you are 
done for now, and you will never be free again. 
Tell me where Jim Turner is." 

"Jim left me at the Z-L ranch," he replied, "and 
went to Colorado City to meet his girl, and we were 
all to get together later on and go to Old Mexico. 
This girl's name was Zettie Sweezer. That is all 
I know about Jim." 

"Why didn't you and Jim help your men when 
we captured them, if you were only half a mile 
away?" 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 123 

"Well, we had left our Winchesters at the camp 
when we went out to plan for the hold-up, so we 
would not attract attention, and had only our pis- 
tols with us, and decided it was best not to come 
up without anything but our sixshooters. If I 
had had my Winchester, I could have easily killed 
you eight hundred yards away. We met an old 
gentleman and two ladies in a wagon. The ladies 
had fainted, and the old gentleman was fanning 
them. The man said to us, 'You men are stran- 
gers to me, but don't go where you hear that shoot- 
ing, for they are having one of the biggest fights I 
ever saw; they made my horses run away." Jim 
and I afterward scouted around in Jack, Palo 
Pinto, Clay and Dickens Counties, keeping on the 
move all the time." 

W r hen the train arrived in El Paso, I stepped in 
the depot to put my Winchester and overcoat 
away, and w T hen I came out I saw that Perry and 
his men were taking Cook away in a carriage. 
After they had gone up the street a short distance, 
they opened the window and looked out. I got a 
carriage and passed them. They had stopped, and 
the reporters were writing down every word Cook 
said. 

I drove to the Wells-Fargo Express office and 
wired to three friends of mine at Kansas City, 
Simpson, Stockton and Ed Dodge, who were in 
the employ of the Wells-Fargo Express Company, 
stating that I was in El Paso; that Bill Cook had 
been captured, and explained how the three men 
had ruled me out of the reward entirely, and that 
I wished to put in my claim for my part of the re- 



124 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

ward. I only asked for one-fourth of the reward. 
In about an hour I received a telegram stating that 
they recognized my claim in full. I have never re- 
ceived any part of this reward. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 125 

XXXI 

A Miserable Night 

On the 11th of January, 1895, I went to Eddy, 
New Mexico, in search of Jim Turner, Bill Cook's 
right hand man. I happened to be short of money 
on that day, so I went to a cheap, but respectable 
hotel to get lodging for the night. I met the lady 
who ran the house, and asked her if I could get a 
good room. She said that all the rooms were 
taken, and then asked me if I would not sleep in a 
room with Judge Wright. I asked her what kind 
of a man he was, and she replied that he was a 
"fine gentleman." I then told her that I would 
sleep in the room with him. 

After engaging the room, I left the hotel and 
joined the sheriff in the search for Turner, the 
train robber. About twelve o'clock that night I 
returned to my room, and went straight to bed. 
There was no one in the room, and I soon fell 
asleep, for I was considerably fagged out. 

I had been asleep about half an hour when a 
man entered the room and woke me up with his 
racket. I turned over and watched his move- 
ments for a while in silence. He lit a lamp, and 
when I got a glimpse of his face I decided that he 
didn't look much like a lawyer to me. He stag- 
gered across the room and sat down on the side of 
his bed. Then he pulled out his revolver, and, half 
cocking it, threw it over against the wall. 

When he got through I asked him what his name 
was. He did not tell his name, but replied that he 



126 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

was the deputy sheriff from Tongue River. I told 
him that he was making an awful play with his six- 
shooter, and that even if he was the deputy sheriff 
from Tongue River, he had better go a little 
slower. I remarked that there were women and 
children in the next room, and that they would be 
safer if he kept his sixshooter still. He then at- 
tempted to enter into conversation with me, but I 
told him I was too sleepy to talk any more. 

I went back to sleep after he had turned the 
light low, but nearly an hour after that I was again 
rudely aroused by another man coming noisily into 
the room. This time it was the lawyer who had 
been recommended to me as a "fine gentleman." 
His face was red, and, like the deputy sheriff, he 
also threw his feet high when he walked. Getting 
his clothes off seemed rather a difficult task to him, 
and I thought he would never accomplish it. 
When he finally did get undressed, however, he 
had an equally hard job getting in his bed. He 
and the deputy sheriff slept in the same bed, and 
I was frequently disturbed during the night by 
them getting up to get a drink of water. About 
five o'clock in the morning, the lawyer made one 
of his regular dives at his bed, but this time he 
went the wrong way and landed on top of me. I 
jumped up, and, grabbing him by the collar, I led 
him to] his bed and pitched him head first on top 
of the deputy sheriff. Then I dressed and went to 
a "three-dollar hotel" and paid a dollar for a bed 
until breakfast. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 127 

XXXII 

My Experiences With a Bearskin Overcoat 

When I went up to Eddy, New Mexico, to look 
for Jim Turner, I took with me my big bearskin 
overcoat, as the weather had turned very cold. My 
overcoat was a "scary" looking thing, but I did not 
realize it when I first got it, so much as I did later 
on, after I had had a number of unusual experi- 
ences on its account. 

I was wearing the coat one morning while stand- 
ing on one of the street corners in Eddy. I had 
my mind on something rather important to me 
then, and was not thinking about my coat, when 
suddenly a horse driven by a man and lady com- 
menced shying at me, and backing off as if it 
wanted to get as far away from me as possible. 
I was not enjoying the thought of anything being 
frightened at me, but suddenly remembering my 
coat, I got out of sight as quickly as possible. My 
movement did no good, however, for the horse kept 
up his rearing and pitching until he had turned the 
buggy over and damaged it in several places. The 
occupants of the buggy, fortunately, were not hurt, 
but I regretted the accident, and, feeling that I was 
the cause of it, I humbly begged their pardon, and 
then walked away, hoping that my coat would not 
get me into any more scrapes like this. 

After walking several blocks away from the 
scene of the first accident, I met a lady carrying a 
baby in her arms. Following her was her little 
boy of five years, with his large bull dog at his side. 



1-8 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

As soon as the dog spied me he made a grab for 
my coat. He looked fierce, and I knew it wouldn't 
do to let him get the advantage of me; so I drew 
my sixshooter and placed the end of it in the 
brute's mouth. The woman screamed, and asked 
me not to shoot the dog. I did not want to kill 
him unless I was forced to, but he struggled so 
hard to get to me that I had to keep the pistol in 
his mouth and walk backward. I told the woman 
if she would call the dog off I could get away with- 
out having to hurt it, but she was too excited to 
listen to my proposition, and continued to plead 
for her dog's life. She said he was her only pro- 
tection when her husband was gone, and that he 
was a good companion for her little boy. That 
might have been true, but she could not see any 
further than that, and could not realize that there 
was another side to the situation. I told her that 
the fact that the dog was valuable did not make it- 
impossible for her to take him off me, and let me 
go on ; but she did not look it at in that light, and I 
had to back down the street until I reached the 
courthouse steps before I could get rid of the brute. 

A woman and a dog following me down the street 
w T as quite an event to me, and all because of my 
overcoat. That was satisfactory to me so far as 
the lady was concerned, but I w T ould rather not 
have a woman and a dog both to deal with at the 
same time. It wasn't long after that, however, 
until my overcoat caused a lady to run away from 
me. 

I was in Fort Worth, having just returned from 
Thurber, Texas, to which place I had taken fifty 
thousand dollars from Dallas, so the miners could 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 129 

be paid off. Col. Hunter, the president of the 
mines, had requested me to do this, as robberies 
had become quite numerous. 

It was still very cold, and I had on my bearskin 
overcoat. Early one morning, while riding on a 
street car, sitting in the corner next to the window, 
an old lady came in and sat down by me. She 
failed to see me at first, but when she did chance 
to look in my direction, she gave a scream that 
startled everybody on the car, and before anyone 
could reach her, she ran out of the door and jumped 
off. 

The conductor stopped the car, and asked her 
what the trouble was. She replied that she did 
not want to ride with a bear. The conductor as- 
sured her that I was no bear; that I only had on a 
bearskin overcoat. 

She came back in, and looked cautiously over 
her glasses at me, and, giving another unearthly 
yell, she quickly fled and left the car again. The 
conductor tried to pacify her, and told her that I 
was only a Texas ranger wearing a bearskin over- 
coat; but she said : "I am satisfied that he is a bear. 
John told me when I left Tennessee that I had bet- 
ter be careful and watch out, for there were lots of 
strange things down in Texas, and you bet Mary 
is going to obey John." We went on then, and left 
Sister Mary standing by the side of the track still 
obeying "John." 

My overcoat was quite comfortable in cold 
weather, but I was getting tired of the trouble 
that it was constantly causing me. Still, I had 
hopes that it would get me into no more scrapes, 
and kept on wearing it that night. 



130 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

The next morning I put it on again, and, as I 
left the hotel to go down town, I passed a little 
girl, who was about nine or ten years old, standing 
on the front gallery of her home. Upon seeing me, 
she called to her mother, telling her to come quick 
and "see Santa Claus." 

While that experience was not so embarrassing 
as the others, it gave a hint that I was to always 
have trouble with my overcoat ; so I made a solemn 
vow to sell it as soon as possible, for, on its account, 
many visions were haunting my mind. Among 
other things, there was the buggy and horse inci- 
dent, the bull dog, the little girl and Santa Claus, 
and an old lady standing by the track obeying 
"John." 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 131 

XXXIII 

A Lively Chase 

While generally successful in arresting noted 
criminals — although often after a long chase with 
a battle at the end of it — sometimes when the man 
sought for was almost within my grasp, he eluded 
capture. A case of this kind was my pursuit of 
two men who had held up a Forth Worth & Den- 
ver train four miles west of Childress, Childress 
County, Texas. 

In the latter part of 1894, while on the way from 
Amarillo to San Saba to appear in court against 
some cattle thieves whom I had arrested in San 
Saba County, the train which I was on met, at 
Bowie, a train on which was Walter Lyons, a cat- 
tle inspector, who asked me to meet him at Cana- 
dian City as soon as possible to assist him in arrest- 
ing some cattle thieves. 

The next morning I heard, while in Fort W r orth, 
that a train on the Fort Wrorth & Denver Rail- 
road had been held up, but I could get no confirma- 
tion of the report. LTpon arriving at San Saba, 
however, I found that the report was true. As 
soon as my business in court at San Saba was fin- 
ished, I hurried to Childress to hunt for the rob- 
bers. 

At Wichita Falls I saw City Marshal Charles 
Landers, of Vernon, who had come there on the 
same business that I came for, and also Bill Ish, 
ex-deputy marshal. They told me that in Vernon, 
the previous day, they had seen a stranger, riding 



132 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

and driving three horses, one of which was packed, 
and they had intended to investigate him, but he 
left sometime during the night and they lost his 
trail; that they went to Wichita Falls the next 
morning, hoping to find him there. They also 
told me that they saw him from the car window as 
they were coming to Wichita Falls, and he was then 
driving only two horses. 

When they told me this, I proposed going back 
on the next train and riding until we met him, as 
he probably would not come to Wichita Falls. 
After some discussion, this plan was agreed to. 
When we boarded the train the conductor gave me 
permission to pull the bell-cord and stop the train 
if I saw the man. After going about seven miles 
I saw him and stopped the train, and George 
Thorn, the conductor, ran the train back as far- as 
he could without placing the sleeper in danger if 
there should be a fight. 

My two men and I then got off and arrested 
him. Upon searching him, we found papers show- 
ing that he had been arrested at Harrell, and that 
he had been arrested for carrying a pistol, and had 
paid twenty-two dollars in cash and left the miss- 
ing horse as security for the balance of the fine. 
He gave his name as Farmer, from Turkey Creek, 
Greer County, claiming to be on his way to Denton 
County after some horses he had there. I asked 
him why he had so many horses with him when he 
was going after more of them, and he replied that 
he did not want to ride the same one all the time. 
All this took some time, and the engineer kept 
ringing the bell and blowing the whistle to hurry 
us, as the train was late. Although satisfied that 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 133 

the prisoner had stolen the horses which he had, 
I was without proof, and, not believing him to be 
implicated in the train robbery, I released him, 
and got back on the train and went to Iowa Park. 

Farmer had, apparently, told us a straight story, 
but I became suspicious after reaching Iowa Park, 
and Bill Ish and I got a buggy and went back and 
re-arrested him, searching him carefully, giving 
his papers a closer inspection and questioning him 
fully as to himself and his movements. He stuck 
to his story of going to Denton County after 
horses, and, although still suspicious, we were 
unable to make anything of him and again re- 
leased him, and returned to Iowa Park, where we 
spent the night at Scott Butler's hotel. 

I desired to be called in the morning in time for 
the west-bound local, and, while sitting in the sit- 
ting room that morning, a stranger came in. He 
seemed to be chilled through, as though he had 
spent the night out of doors, and I asked him if he 
had camped out. He said no; that he had spent 
the night at the section house, a mile or so down 
the road. I asked him what he had done with his 
horse. 

"What horse?" he said. 

"The one you were riding/' said I. 

"That was a pony. I left him at Decatur two 
years ago, with Ridley," he replied. 

"I am not talking about two years ago;" said I, 
"I am talking about the horse you rode to the rail- 
road." 

"Oh; that horse. I sent him to Greer County." 

"What did your partner do with his?" I asked. 

"He sent his also," he replied. 



134 Twelve Years in" the Saddle. 

I asked him if both horses were bays, and he 
said, "No; they are both grey." 

Upon asking him what he had done with his sad- 
dle and bridle, he said he had none ; that he had rid- 
den his horse bareback with a hackamore. This 
made me more suspicions than ever, and I asked 
him what his partner had done with his saddle and 
bridle. He said he had sold them to a man at the 
cement works, four miles west of Quanah. 

In answer to my question, he said his name was. 
John D. Hobart and his partner's name was Bill 
Hughes, and he had known the latter for eleven 
years in Brown County. Further questions 
brought out the fact that he had separated from 
Hughes near the railroad dam, east of the flour 
mill, in Quanah, about three days previously. 

"When you left Bill," I asked, "where did you 
tell Bill to write to you?" 

"I didn't tell him," said he. 

"Where did Bill tell you to write him?" 

"He didn't tell me." 

"Did you shake hands when you parted?" 

"No." 

"Why not? Had you quarreled?" 

"No; we were friends." 

"What; you had known each other eleven years, 
and you had parted without telling each other 
where to write and without even shaking hands, 
although you had had no quarrel? I will have to 
arrest you," I said. 

Breakfast was announced about this time, and 
Landers, Ish and I, together with the prisoner, 
ate breakfast, and afterward boarded the train and 
went to Vernon where Hobart was jailed. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 135 

From Vernon I wired to Captain J. V. Good, su- 
perintendent of the Fort Worth & Denver Rail- 
road, to send the engineer and fireman of the train 
which was held up near Childress to identify the 
prisoner. 

They came ; but were unable to swear positively 
that he was the robber, as his face was masked at 
the time of the hold-up. They said, however, that 
his build, clothes and hat corresponded to those of 
the robber, as, also, did his voice. 

I then took my prisoner to Childress and jailed 
him, leaving Ish and Landers at Vernon. 

When I arrested Hobart, I told him he was ar- 
rested for train robbery. He said that on the even- 
ing of the robbery he was digging a cellar for Pat 
Leonard, twenty miles south of Childress. 

After jailing Hobart at Childress I went to Am- 
arillo, telling him I w T ould return in the morning 
and take him out to Leonard's to see if his story 
as to the cellar could be verified. 

On arriving at Childress, the following morning, 
I was met by a deputy sheriff, who told me that 
Hobart' s story was true, and that he had seen 
him dig in the cellar on the day he claimed, and 
that it would have been impossible for him to 
have reached the scene of the hold-up at the time 
it took place. Acting upon this, I had Hobart 
released from jail, and gave him five dollars and 
a ticket to Iowa Park. 

That was the last I ever saw r of Hobart, although 
I afterward tried ever}^ way I could think of to find 
him. 

The robbery for which I had arrested Hobart 
was committed within a few miles of Childress, and 



136 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

the local officers had not succeeded in arresting the 
robber; so when I found, too late, that there was 
no truth in the story of either Hobart or the dep- 
uty sheriff as to Hobart having been at Pat Leon- 
ard's on the day of the robbery, I was compelled 
to believe that the deputy sheriff had secured his 
release through jealously over the fact that the 
robber had been arrested by a ranger after the 
county officers had failed. 

When I released Hobart at Childress, I took the 
train and went to Amarillo, where I had to appear 
in court against three cow thieves, a Mr. Swen and 
his two sons. 

The next morning I went to the postoffice and 
found a letter to me from the jailer at Vernon. In- 
side of the envelope was another letter written by 
John Hobart to his uncle at Monktown, Fannin 
County, in which he made a full confession of the 
robbery. I succeeded in getting Judge Wallace 
and Judge Plemons and District Attorney D. B. 
Hill to release me that evening; for I showed them 
this letter, and explained to them that I wanted to 
follow Hobart. 

The next morning I started to Decatur, and, 
upon reaching there, I inquired at the livery sta- 
bles to find out if Hobart had hired a horse at any 
time, but found that he had not done so. I found, 
though, that he had registered at one of the hotels 
as John D. Hobart, Honey Grove, Fannin County. 

I then boarded the train and went to Honey 
Grove. When I reached that place I went to a 
merchant, in whom I could confide, and asked 
him if he knew anyone in the vicinity of Monk- 
town by the name of George Hobart. He stated 



Twelve Years ix the Saddle. 137 

that he did, and that Monktown was eighteen miles 
from there, on the Red River ; that George Hobart 
was running a big cotton gin at that place. I asked 
him if he knew of anyone at Monktown whom I 
could trust, and he told me that Deputy Sheriff 
White of that town was a trustworthy man. I 
went to Monktown that evening, and the next 
morning I hunted up Mr. White and explained the 
case to him, and, after describing Hobart to him, 
I asked White to go out to George Hobart 7 s and 
see if John Hobart was there. I also told him that 
if he failed to find him, to tell his uncle, George Ho- 
bart, that he had met his nephew three months ago 
at Decatur, and had been informed by him that 
there was a man there who had some horses and 
mules for sale, and that he wanted to know the 
name of the man with whom his nephew lived in 
Decatur, so that he could find him and get some 
information from him in regard to the party who 
had the horses and mules to sell. White immedi- 
ately went out to George Hobart' s place and saw 
him, but failed to find the man whom we wanted. 
He returned, however, with the information that 
John Hobart lived nine miles from Decatur with a 
man by the name of John Ridley. 

I went to Fort Worth and wired Sheriff Moore 
of Decatur, asking him if he knew a man by the 
name of John Ridley in that country, and if he 
did to meet me at the depot on the arrival of the 
next train from Fort Worth, with horses and sad- 
dles for us both. He answered that there were two 
brothers, Jim and John Ridley, living nine miles 
from Decatur; so when I arrived at that town, 
Moore was waiting for me with horses and saddles 



138 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

We left at once for Ridley's, and, on the way there, 
Moore informed me that he had a friend who lived 
between the two Ridley brothers, and that we had 
better see his friend first, as we might obtain some 
information from him. 

We called by and saw this man, who informed 
us that he had been at Jim Ridley's the evening 
before and at John Ridley's that morning, and 
that he had not seen anyone who fitted the descrip- 
tion of John Hobart. He said, however, that he 
did see such a person in Decatur the Friday be- 
fore, with John Ridley and his wife. After we left 
this man, I suggested to Moore that I go to Rid- 
ley's and spend the night, and tell them I was hunt- 
ing land to rent, but he would not agree to that. 
We decided to return to Decatur then ; for, as court 
was in session at Decatur, Sheriff Moore had to be 
there. 

The next morning I went to John Ridley's, and, 
when I knocked, a lady came to the door and in- 
formed me that she was Mrs. Ridley. 

"Is your husband here?" I asked. 

"No, sir," she replied, "if you came from town, 
you met him not far back." 

"I did meet a man about two miles back," I 
answered, "and I suppose he was your husband." 

I then told her I lived on Denton Creek, where 
I was feeding two thousand beeves. "I heard in 
Decatur," I continued, "that there was a young 
man with you and your husband last Friday, and 
that he wanted to hire to you, but the party who 
told me didn't know whether you hired him or 
not, and if you did, he said he didn't think you 
needed him, and as I am needing help very badly 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 139 

in giving attention to my cattle, I would like to 
hire him, if he is here and you do not need him." 

'That was John Hobart," she replied, "but you 
would not want him on your place as he is such a 
vulgar man." 

"No; I don't want him," I replied, "if he is a 
tough character, for I have a wife and four grown 
daughters." 

"He is a right tough character," she said. 

"But in case I am forced to have him," I said, 
"where do you think I could likely find him?" 

"I expect you will find him at his grandfather's, 
who lives on Emerson's prairie, eighteen miles 
from Paris. His grandfather is named Sol Hide- 
man. John Hobart has one hundred and fifty 
acres of land at his grandfather's, and he is proba- 
bly there attending to it." 

In the letter which John Hobart wrote to his 
uncle, which was sent to me by the jailer at Vernon, 
and in which he confessed to the robbery, he stated 
to his uncle that he supposed this jail business 
would make his "cake all dough" with his girl; so 
I asked Mrs. Ridley if he had a girl, and she replied 
that he did; that her name was Emma Kitchens, 
and that she lived on Emerson's prairie. 

After gaining this information, I returned to De- 
catur and went to Paris, hired a buggy and team, 
and went out to Emerson's store, where I learned 
the way to Mr. Hideman's. When I reached 
there, I introduced myself to him under another 
name, and stated to him that I was renting land 
south of Paris, but that I had accumulated enough 
money to buy me a home ; that I met his grandson 
about three months ago, and he told me he had 



140 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

some land in this part of the country, and that I 
had come out to see about buying it. The old 
gentleman showed me the land, and stated he 
would be glad if his grandson would sell it and set- 
tle down with his father, near Brownwood. 

Returning to Paris, I left at once for Brown- 
wood, and upon arriving there, the deputy sheriff 
and I went to Mr. Hobart's, twenty miles from 
Brownwood. Mrs. Hobart informed me that her 
husband was two and a half miles from there, 
helping a neighbor kill hogs. When we arrived 
at this place, the deputy sheriff introduced me to 
someone as Jones, and just then a man stepped up 
and said, "Hello, Sullivan/' 

I had my mustache and beard blacked, in order 
to avoid detection by those who might know me; 
but this fellow seemed to recognize me after all. 

"You must be mistaken in my name," I said, 
"for my name is Jones." 

"You used to guard the jail in Mangum, in Greer 
County," he replied, "against a mob that wanted 
to hang Race Thomas and Jeff Adams for mur- 
der." 

I told him he was mistaken in my name, and 
asked, "where is Mangum?" 

"It is fifty-five miles north of Quanah, in Greer 
County," he replied. 

"What road is Quanah on?" I asked. 

"On the Fort Worth & Denver." 

"I have never been any further north than Fort 
Worth," I replied. 

He gave it up, and said he supposed he was mis- 
taken. It was now dinner time, and we all went 
in and took our places around the table. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 141 

Tom Hobart, being a visitor, the host asked him 
to return thanks. He did so, and from the length 
of the blessing and the way he asked it, I imagined 
he was a Methodist. When he had finished, I said, 
" Gentlemen, we ought always to be thankful for 
the luxuries of life that we receive, but, as a gen- 
eral thing, we are not half as thankful as we should 
be." 

"Are you a member of the church?" asked Ho- 
bart. 

"Yes, sir, I am." 

"To what church do you belong?" 

"To the Methodist," I replied. 

"Give me your hand;" he replied, "I am a Meth- 
odist too." 

After dinner I told the old gentleman I had met 
his son and he told me about having some land on 
Emerson's prairie; that I had gone there and looked 
at the land, and was well pleased with it, and had 
about decided to quit renting land and buy me a 
place, and that I had come to Brown County to 
see about buying the land. He suggested that 
the deputy sheriff and I get in the buggy and go 
with him to the house and examine the papers. 
This we did. He got the deeds out of a trunk and 
handed them to me. I examined them very care- 
fully, one by one. I could not have told whether 
they were right or wrong if my life had depended 
on it. I told him I couldn't see anything wrong 
with them. I asked where I could likely find his 
son, and he replied that he didn't know where he 
was, but that he would be glad for him to sell the 
place and settle down close to him, as he was a very 
wild boy. 



142 Twelve Tears in the Saddle. 

This boy's father, Tom Hobart, was a commis- 
sioner and deputy sheriff of Brown County. After 
the deputy sheriff and I left the house, he turned 
to me and said: 

"I have placed myself in a pretty shape by in- 
troducing you as Sam Jones to the old gentleman, 
for he will undoubtedly find out that this is all a 
fake about you buying land, and he will have it 
in for me. 

"What kind of a man is he; is he a good man?" 

"As good a man as ever lived," he replied. 

"Suppose we go back and tell him the truth 
about the matter, and lay the case before him, and 
show him the letter written by his son to the boy's 
uncle, in which he confessed to the robbery? Do 
you think he would rather aid us in finding the 
boy than to have him still run at large, and proba- 
bly be killed some day while robbing some bank 
or express car; or, if not killed, sent to the peni- 
tentiary for life?" 

"I believe he would rather help us to find him," 
replied the deputy. 

We concluded, therefore, to go back, and I told 
him my real name and why I was there. He 
turned pale and commenced trembling, and told 
me he thought there was something strange about 
the affair when I was talking to him about buying 
the land. 

I explained to him what would probably be the 
fate of his son if he should run at large, and that 
I thought it would be better for him and better for 
the boy if his lawlessness should be checked. 

The old gentleman agreed with me, and said 
that while he had no idea where the boy was at 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 143 

that time, he would aid me in every way in lo- 
cating him. 

I failed to find young Hobart, although I made 
every effort to do so. I have seen the deputy 
sheriff of Brown County several times, and he in- 
forms me that Tom Hobart has never heard of 
his boy from the time I was in Brown County 
looking for him. 

Later on I caught Hobart' s partner, Bill Hughes, 
thirty miles below Quanah; but, John Hobart be- 
ing at large, Hughes could not be convicted. 



144 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XXXIV 

Battle in the Dugout 

I left Vernon on the 24th of December, 1896, 
with Sheriff Sanders, of Wilbarger County, and Bill 
Ish, to hunt for a train robber. We expected to 
locate him and another man, Tom Wright, whom 
we also wanted, at a dance that was to be given 
that night on Beaver Creek, twenty miles below 
Vernon. Wright was at the dance, as we had ex- 
pected, but he made his escape before we got there. 

After leaving the dance we went to an old gen- 
tleman's house, about two miles away, to spend 
the night, arriving there about half past one in 
the morning. We were quite hungry, as we. had 
had no dinner or supper, so the lady brought out 
come cakes and pies, it being Chirstmas, and set 
them before us. They were delicious, and we ate 
a whole lot before we were through. 

The next morning the family, which consisted 
of the man and his wife and their six grown chil- 
dren — three sons and three daughters — gathered 
together to have prayer. Of course we three men 
were there too. The old gentleman read a chapter 
of the Bible, and then called on Bill Ish to pray. 
Bill balked. He then called on Sheriff Sanders to 
pray, but the latter gentleman also failed to re- 
spond. I had already made up my mind that if 
he called on me, I was going to pray entirely for 
Bill and Dick (Sanders) ; but, for some reason, I 
was not called upon. 

After spending a part of the day in that part of 




GEORGE BLACK J. M. BRITTON 

Two Ranger Boys of Company B. Britton was at one time 

Sergeant of the Company. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 145 

the country, we returned to Vernon, where I 
learned that there was a telegram for me at the 
depot. The message was from Taylor Holt, the 
book-keeper at Wagoner's store, and stated that 
four men had come to the store and beat one of 
the clerks nearly to death, and that they needed 
my assistance. I took Jack Harrell, a daring 
ranger, and we caught the train at once for Wag- 
ner. 

When we arrived at Wagner, Taylor Holt was 
at the train to meet us, and took us over to the 
store, where he described the four desperadoes. 
When he expressed the opinion that the four men 
were still in the country, I said that we had better 
sleep in the store, as I thought the men would at- 
tempt to rob the store that night. There was a 
bed in the store, and, as I was tired, not having 
slept much in two days and nights, I lay down at 
once to go to sleep, after telling Holt to rouse me 
if he heard anyone and I was not the first to wake 
up. 

About ten o'clock someone called at the front 
door of the store, and Holt and I awoke about the 
same time. Holt answered the call and told the 
party he was coming. I buckled on my sixshooter, 
picked up my Winchester, and went down the aisle 
in the store to where I struck the opening between 
two counters. I hid behind a show case and told 
Holt that when he got to the door to ask who it 
was, and, if he found it was the robbers, for him to 
drop flat on the floor behind the door after he 
opened it, and, as they stepped in, I would do the 
work for them. But when he asked who it was that 



146 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

they wanted, the party answered, "I am Alf 
Bailey; I was robbed awhile ago by four men/' 

We let him in, and Holt introduced us. Bailey 
said he was told that I was staying in Wagoner's 
store that night, and he had come to ask me to 
aid him in finding the robbers. Bailey's store was 
four miles south of Wagoner's store, and, instead 
of robbing Wagoner's store as we expected they 
would, the desperadoes robbed Alf Bailey's store 
and the postofTice, which was in the same building, 
getting about seven hundred dollars worth of mer- 
chandise and all the money and stamps in the post- 
office. 

Judging from Bailey's description of the men, 
I thought I knew one of them. I asked Holt if he 
had any horses we could use, and he replied that 
all of the horses were out in the pasture. It was 
about as cold a night, to be no wind blowing, as I 
ever saw in the Panhandle; so I told Bailey that 
as we had no horses it would be better for him to 
go back home and meet me in the morning with 
the trail. Bailey said he thought the four men 
went toward the Indian Territory. 

I notified all the officers, up and down the line, 
of the robbery, so that they would be on the look- 
out for the robbers. I also wired the boys at head- 
quarters to come down. The next morning Tay- 
lor Holt, Alf Bailey, and some others and I started 
out over the trail. The ground was frozen so hard 
that only one of the four horses made an impres- 
sion on it, he weighing about twelve hundred 
pounds. After we had traveled some distance we 
came to a small house where the four men had 
spent the balance of the night. There were signs 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 147 

where they had fed the horses, and had cooked, 
eaten and slept. We also found a number of fine 
quirts between the mattresses, some tobacco, and 
about fifty pounds of coffee in a shed-room, which 
had been taken from Bailey's store. There was 
no one on the place but a big bull dog tied to the 
front door, and we had to enter the house through 
a window. Finding no one around anywhere, 
Taylor Holt and I went to the nearest house to 
see if we could get any information about the rob- 
bers. When we got to the house Holt went around 
to the back door while I knocked on the front door. 
I had to knock four or five times before I received 
an answer, and it was a lady who finally opened 
the door. About the same time I heard Holt 
speak to someone in the back yard. I hurried 
around there, and arrested a man who was just 
coming out of the back door. He was the owner 
of the house where the four desperadoes had stayed 
the night before. I asked him a few questions in 
regard to where he had stayed the night before, 
and who had stayed at his house, but I could get 
no information from him. I then asked him about 
the quirts, tobacco, and coffee at his house, and he 
said he knew nothing about them. 

I thought it best to hold him for awhile, so Holt 
and I took him to the railroad, where we met a 
local. We hid our horses, boarded the local, went 
to Iowa Park, and met the north-bound passenger 
train. We then turned our prisoner over to an 
officer — Eugene Logan — with instructions to jail 
him at Vernon, and then we quit the train where 
we had left our horses. The night was so dark 
that we lost our way, and, after riding nearly all 



148 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

night, finally found ourselves at the house of a Mr. 
Cobbs, the place where I arrested the man the day 
before. Mr. Cobbs fed our horses for us, and I 
took time to sleep a little, after asking Mr. Cobbs 
to let us have breakfast as soon as they could get 
it ready, it then being about four o'clock in the 
morning. 

After breakfast Mr. Cobbs told me that the man 
I arrested there the day before had taken his 
(Cobbs 7 ) hat and left his own new Stetson hat. I 
took possession of this new Stetson hat, and found 
that it had Mr. Bailey's cost-mark in it. 

Holt and I then returned to Wagner, where we 
met the men whom we were with the day before. 
We also found there Sheriff Moses and Constable 
Tom Pickett, from Wichita Falls; Bud Hardin, a 
special ranger from Harrell; Dick Sanders, Sheriff 
of Wilbarger County; Johnnie Williams, Deputy 
Sheriff of Wilbarger County; Charley Landers, 
City Marshal of Vernon; Jack Harvell, Bob Mc- 
Clure, Billy McCauley, and Lee Queen, rangers, 
and Alf Bailey. I wired Sheriff Tittle, of Mangum, 
Greer County, fifty-five miles off the railroad, about 
the robbery. 

My men and I left at once for Wagner's head- 
quarters camp on Red River, where I got horses 
for the men, and where I received some informa- 
tion in regard to the four outlaws. 

We traveled on toward the Indian Territory, 
and just before crossing Red River I met a man 
by the name of Dick Farrell, who was Tom Wag- 
ner's line camp rider, and who lived in the Indian 
Territory, twenty miles from Red River. I asked 
him if there was anyone at the line camp when he 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 149 

left, and he replied that there was no one there. 
I then asked him if he had seen anyone since he 
left the line camp, and he replied that he had seen 
two objects, but they were such a long distance off 
that he couldn't tell whether they were horses, 
cattle or men, and that he couldn't tell whether 
they were moving or standing still. He told me 
he had plenty to eat, and lots of horse feed at the 
camp, but had only one bed. 

So we pushed on. About an hour before sun- 
down, a big, blue norther blew up, which we had 
to face. Just at dusk we came in sight of Dick 
FarrelPs camp, which was a dugout, half rock and 
half dirt, built in the head of a draw, and there was 
a bright light shining out of the mouth of the dug- 
out down the draw. Six of my men had fallen be- 
hind; so I told the other five that those fellows in 
the dugout were either the outlaws or some hun- 
ters, and that we had better wait for the other 
men. We waited for some time, but they failed 
to come, and I told my men we would try it with- 
out the others. We started toward the dugout in 
a gallop, getting a little faster all the time, and 
when we got within seventy-five yards of the dug- 
out, the four desperadoes— Joe Beckham, Hill 
Loftos, Redbuck, and the kid, Elmore Lewis — ran 
out and opened fire on us, killing three horses. I 
was making every effort to get my Winchester out 
of the scabbard, with all four of the outlaws shoot- 
ing at us, but my horse was rearing and plunging 
so much to get away from the flare of the guns that 
every time I would reach down to pull my gun 
out, he would rear, and the horn of my saddle 
would knock me away from it; but, after three 



150 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

trials, and after getting a rib broken, I succeeded 
in getting my gun, when I fell off my horse and 
faced the four men. Three of them were in a 
trench leading into the dugout, and the fourth, 
Redbuck, was standing in the door of the dugout. 
I opened fire on them, as they were already shoot- 
ing at us, and my first shot struck Redbuck just 
over the heart, and he fell backward into the dug- 
out. The ball had only struck his breast-plate, 
however, and he fainted, but recovered in a few 
minutes and again joined in the fight. I found 
out afterward that we hit him again, shattering 
his collar bone and shoulder blade. I also learned 
that one of the men in the trench was killed. The 
firing was kept up until we had emptied our Win- 
chesters and reloaded them. Suddenly I heard a 
gunshot behind me, and I turned and discovered 
that Johnnie Williams, the deputy sheriff of Wil- 
barger County, had come to my assistance. His 
horse had been killed in the fight, and Johnnie re- 
turned to me at once. 

I asked Johnnie if he was hurt, and he replied 
that he was not, but added that I had better lie 
down on the ground or the desperadoes would kill 
me. Out of all the officers Johnnie was the stayer. 

We fired several more shots at the three men, 
but they went into the dugout and fired at us from 
a window. I suggested to Johnnie that we dis- 
mount the four men by killing their horses, which 
we did, and every time we fired a horse fell. There 
were four animals in the pen, but it was so dark we 
couldn't see very well, and we afterward found 
that we had killed two of Wagner's horses, which 
they had stolen, and two of his big freight mules, 



Twelve Years m the Saddle. 151 

which were used by Farrell. They had stolen two 
other horses from an old fellow in the Cheyenne 
country, but they had turned them out into the 
pasture. Later we captured these two horses and 
turned them over to their owner. 

I suggested to Johnnie that we crawl across the 
draw and get in the corral, behind those dead 
horses, and kill the men as they came to the door. 
We then started crawling across the draw, keep- 
ing as close to the ground as we possibly could, 
when the men suddenly began firing on us again. 
Just at this time I fell over backward into a gully, 
and got fastened so tight that I had to make sev- 
eral efforts before I could get out. I was asking 
Johnnie all the time if he was hurt, and he crawled 
over to the edge of the gully that I was in and said 
he was not injured at all. I whispered to Johnnie 
that I had to get out of that gully, and if they 
killed me when I raised myself out of it, for him to 
shoot at the blaze and kill the man who shot me. 
I managed to get out of the gully, however, with- 
out being shot, and we began crawling again to- 
ward the corral, which was then about twenty 
steps away, and, if we could get behind the dead 
horses, we would only be about fifteen steps from 
the door of the dugout. We had gotten on high 
ground, when the three men "sky-lighted " us and 
opened fire again. Johnnie asked what we had 
better do, and I replied that it would not hurt to 
"crawfish" a little at that particular time, and we 
turned back, when we met three of the other men 
whom we left. 

We fought the outlaws until eleven o'clock that 
night. Every time they saw any of us moving 



152 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

anywhere they fired at us, and we fired back at 
them. Finally, we got so cold we couldn't pull a 
cartridge from our belts, and couldn't work the 
lever of our Winchesters, and we had to quit. We 
decided to go back that night to Wagner's camp, 
which was twenty-five miles away; so we started 
out, walking across the country. 

We arrived at Wagner's camp the next morn- 
ing, and I gave Dick Farrell five dollars to guide 
me back across the country to the dugout. All 
of my men, except Billy McCauley and Lee Queen, 
refused to go back with me ; so with these two men 
and Dick Farrell, I left for the dugout in a blind- 
ing storm of snow and sleet. When we arrived at 
Red River, Dick Farrell decided that he didn't 
care to go to the dugout if we went together, for 
if the men were still there they would open fire on 
us as they did the night before. He suggested 
that he go alone, and, if they were there, to tell 
them he was the owner of the dugout, and that he 
would report to me that night. I concluded to let 
him do this. Farrell then went to the dugout, and 
my men and I returned to Wagner's ranch. That 
evening Farrell returned to the ranch, and stated 
that the desperadoes had left the dugout, but he 
found Sheriff Tittle, of Greer County, there, with 
John Byers and Jim Farris, two of his deputies. 
Tittle told Farrell there had been a fight there the 
night before, and one man killed, and he asked 
Farrell if he knew who had been in the fight. Far- 
rell told him it was Sullivan and his officers and 
the four outlaws. He then instructed Farrell to 
return to Wagner's ranch, and tell me that he and 
his men had come to the dugout to investigate the 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 153 

matter, and that Joe Beckham, ex-sheriff of Mot- 
ley County, had been killed the night before, and 
that there had been seven horses killed, and for 
me to come there at once, and he would stay until 
I arrived. 

Farrell returned to me with this information, 
and I immediately got a buckboard and a* pair of 
mules from Tom Wagner, and, with Alf Bailey, 
Billy McCauley and Lee Queen, went to the dug- 
out, where I found Sheriff Tittle and his two men. 
Before we entered the dugout, where Alf Bailey's 
goods were, we had him tell us his cost-mark. We 
examined the goods, the cost-mark on them tal- 
lied with the cost-mark Bailey had given us before 
seeing the goods, and we recovered nearly all of 
the merchandise that had been stolen from Bailey. 

I put Beckham's body in the buckboard, and 
then loaded in seven saddles, three of which we 
took off the dead horses, and four which belonged 
to the four outlaws. I also put in Alf Bailey's 
goods, and then returned to Wagner's station on 
the Fort Worth & Denver Railroad. The next 
day, Tuesday, we buried Beckham, but the follow- 
ing Thursday I received orders from Adjutant 
General Mabry to hold an inquest over Beckham's 
body, and we had to take the body up and hold 
an inquest over it that day. Before burying him 
again, however, I took his wife's ring off his finger. 

Beckham had a sister living in Altis, and one 
night while I was in that town she sent for me to 
ask me about her brother. I went to see her and 
gave her the ring which I had taken from her 
brother's finger. I explained to her the manner 
in which her brother had met his death, and, al- 



154 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

though terribly grieved, she said she could not hold 
me responsible for his sad fate. She said her 
brother had once been an honorable man, but had 
gradually gotten bad, and kept getting worse, un- 
til his untimely and tragic end was inevitable. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 155 

XXXV 

An Exciting Experience With Indians 

After the battle in the dugout, I returned to 
Amarillo, and nine days later I received a message 
from the operator at Wagner, and one from Taylor 
Holt also, saying that there was a man in Paint 
Creek dugout by the name of Redbuck, and that 
he was very badly wounded and expected to die, 
and that his friends were making arrangements to 
carry him further off. 

At that time all of my ranger boys were out on 
a scouting expedition; so I sent to Vernon for the 
deputy marshal, and wired C. Madson, of El Reno, 
chief of the marshals, to send me one of his depu- 
ties, and he sent me Ed Meyers. I also had Jailer 
Shies of Vernon; Tom Pickett, constable of Wich- 
ita Falls; Sam Abbott, of Wichita Falls; Charley 
Landers, city marshal of Vernon, and Henry Mc- 
Cauley, of Wichita Falls. 

With these men I went to S. B. Burnett's head- 
quarters camp, ten miles from Wichita Falls, 
where I succeeded in getting a wagon and a span 
of mules, and horses for myself and men, and 
plenty of bacon, beef, coffee, flour and horse feed. 

We then started out, with Henry McCauley as 
teamster. That night we camped at Burnett's 
line camp in the Territory. Before we reached 
this place, however, we had quite a lively scene. 
There were two negroes and an old white man at 
the line camp. They saw us when we were sea- 
eral hundred yards away, and thought we were 



156 Twelve Years ix the Saddle. 

outlaws, and the two negroes, one with a six- 
shooter and the other with a Winchester, were 
trying to get to a thicket about two hundred yards 
from the camp. The o*ld white man was standing 
on the gallery trying to get the negroes to stay 
there, and he finally succeeded, after they had 
jumped the fence three or four times. When we 
reached the camp, the two negroes, Zip and Jack, 
told us they thought we were Foster Crawford's 
gang. The white man had taken out a little note- 
book before we reached the camp, and had written 
in it, "I was killed by outlaws." I told him he 
made his will too quick. Zip was scared so badly 
that his face was a creamy color, although he was 
naturally as black as the ace of spades. I asked 
him if he had been powdering his face, as it looked 
nearly white, and he replied that he was so badly 
frightened that he didn't know whether his face 
would ever resume its original color or not. Things 
quieted down, and old Zip, being also badly scared, 
cooked us a fine supper that night. 

As I was not very well acquainted with that sec- 
tion of the country, the next morning I concluded 
it would be better to have some one to go with us 
who was familiar with the country; so I got Jack 
to go in front of us, and I told him that whenever 
he came near a dugout he must go ahead and see 
if everything was all right, and then report to me, 
as I did not want to rush myself and the boys into 
anything without first knowing a few particulars. 

Jack located several dugouts, and came back 
and reported each time that there were no strangers 
or wounded men in any of them. About eleven 
o'clock that day, Jack had gotten careless and had 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 157 

fallen behind with the teamster. Ed Meyers and 
I were riding in the lead. While looking ahead of 
us I saw a little box house about eight hundred 
yards away, and a moment later I beheld three 
people running out of it, two at the back of the 
house and one in the front. I motioned to the 
men to come on; and Jack ran his horse up beside 
me, and I asked him who lived in the house. He 
replied that a family of white people lived there. 
We ran our horses toward the house, and, after we 
had run about five hundred yards, Jack said he 
saw a buggy leave the house ; but as neither Meyers 
nor I had seen this buggy, we rode straight for the 
house, while Jack kept leaning to the left, away 
from the house. Meyers and I ran up to the back 
of the house, and there we found a buggy, but there 
was no team hitched to it. I remarked to Meyers, 
"Look where Jack is; he sees something," and we 
ran our horses toward Jack. After we had gone 
about five hundred yards we discovered this buggy 
coming around a hill, and they were riding around 
to get on our left; so I told Meyers to kill their 
horses, as he was riding next to them and my Win- 
chester was a long one and hard to handle on horse- 
back. After Meyers fired, they began firing on us, 
and I told him to quit shooting and wait until they 
started down a string of wire fence, and we would 
then follow them. "When we get close enough to 
them, I will get off my horse and tear the back out 
of the buggy," I said. Just as I was about to dis- 
mount Jack threw his hat in the air and yelled 
"Comanches!" We then saw an Indian, whose 
name I afterward learned was "Crowmore," come 
out of Oak Creek, riding a Paint pony, and he fired 



158 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

two shots at us with his Winchester, yelling 
"sheepshier," meaning "hurry up." About this 
time we discovered that the people in the buggy 
whom we were after were Indians, three of whom 
were Crowmore' s wife, and papoose, and his broth- 
re-in-law. Crowmore and the other three Indians 
in the buggy then went down to their camp. 

Jailer Shies proposed going to the camp and ex- 
plaining things, as he was acquainted with Crow- 
more, but I advised him to stay away, as Crowmore 
would not know him from any other officer if he 
saw him riding up to his camp, and, as he was on 
the warpath, he might shoot him. Shies insisted, 
however, and I told him if he would go that he had 
better go alone; for, if several of us went, Crow- 
more would likely fire on us before we could get 
him located. 

Shies decided to go alone, and after he had been 
gone some time I began to feel uneasy about him; 
so I took Sam Abbott, Ed Meyers and Jack and 
went down to the camp to see what the trouble 
was. I found no one there, but while searching for 
Shies, I found a rope stretched in the yard loaded 
with what I took to be beef. I dismounted and 
ate a big lot of Crowmore's nice beef, and then got 
my men and went back to the little house which 
we had left sometime before. There I found the 
other members of my party, and they were just 
getting ready for dinner. 

I told them that I had eaten so much good beef 
that I was not hungry and did not want any din- 
ner. 

" Where did you get the beef?" the lady of the 
house asked me. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 159 

"Down at Crowmore's camp/' I replied. 

"That beef you ate down there was an old horse 
that died a few day ago, and they 'jerked' him 
on that rope/' she said. 

"Well, he was 'jerked' twice then if they jerked 
him, for I 'jerked' him once myself," I answered. 
I did not say anything else, but my meat didn't 
set very well after that. 

About fifteen minutes after I arrived at this 
house, and while watching for Shies, I saw forty- 
six Indians riding toward the house as fast as their 
horses could carry them. When the lady, who 
lived at the house where we were, saw them, she 
said that they were on the warpath; for she had 
lived in that section of the country fifteen years 
and knew their ways. The Indians came within 
five hundred yards of where we were, and, with 
their horses, formed a figure eight. Jack said that 
was a sign that they were going to fight us, and 
when they made three such figures it meant they 
were coming. They went back a short distance, 
and then came toward us and made another figure 
eight, leaving them one more to make before they 
charged us. I then discovered two Indians run- 
ning their horses toward the hay stacks, back of the 
house. I saw at once that if they reached the hay 
stacks, they would have the advantage of us; so I 
sent Charley Landers and Sam Abbott to head 
them off, and, after a quick chase, they beat the 
Indians to the stacks, and the Indians returned 
and joined the others, who were getting ready to 
make the third figure eight. 

This lady, whom I have spoken of several times, 
informed me that she could speak the Indian Ian- 



160 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

guage as well as they could, and offered to go to 
the Indians and deliver any message I might wish 
to send them. I accepted her proposition, and 
asked her to tell them that we were Texas rangers 
and we had a deputy marshal from El Reno with 
us; that we had come to this house to look for a 
wounded man by the name of Redbuck; that we 
heard they were going to take him away in a buggy ; 
that when we saw the buggy leave the house so 
hurriedly we concluded the man we wanted was 
in the buggy, and consequently had tried to kill 
the horses which were hitched to the buggy, not 
knowing we were after Crowmore's people. 

After I explained to the lady what to tell the 
Indians, she started toward them, swinging her 
blue bonnet in the air to let them know she wished 
to speak to them. She explained the situation to 
them, but they told her we had deceived her, and 
also told her they knew we were outlaws, as they 
had been informed at Fort Sill that the country 
was full of them, and that there had been a fight 
about twenty-five miles below there a few nights 
back, and they were satisfied we had come to kill 
their people. 

She returned and reported what they had told 
her. I then asked her to go to them and state to 
them that Tom Pickett, constable from Wichita 
Falls, was with our men, and that they ought to 
know him, as he had managed their war dances for 
them at Wichita Falls, and that he could prove to 
them that we were officers. 

She did this, and informed us that the Indians 
said to send Tom Pickett to them. Tom didn't 
seem to be very anxious to make the visit to the 




"SKEETER" 

One of Bill Cook's favorite warriors. Today in Sing Sing, 

N. Y., serving his thirty years' sentence. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 161 

Indians just then, but I told him to lay his Win- 
chester down on the ground where they could see 
it, and to go to them and try to make a treaty 
with them, and that if they killed him, I would kill 
every one of them before they could get back to 
Fort Sill. Tom concluded to go, and Henry Mc- 
Cauley, the teamster, volunteered to go with him. 
When they reached the Indians they recognized 
Tom at once, and the chief dismounted and took 
Tom and Henry by the hands, and seemed to be 
very glad to find out that we were not outlaws. 

He instructed his warriors to stay where they 
were, while he investigated the matter a little more. 
He mounted his horse and came toward us at full 
speed, and when he arrived within seventy yards 
of us, he threw his Winchester across his left wrist. 
This was a sign that we were friends, but I didn't 
know it at the time, and I came very near shooting 
him, but Jack stopped me and explained what was 
meant by it. 

When he reached us, he dismounted, shook 
hands with us all, and then motioned for his men 
to come, and they, with Tom and Henry, soon 
joined us. 

I cautioned the men not to let the Indians get 
to our guns, and not to be too free with them. The 
Indians would point to our belts and indicate to 
us that they wanted us to give them some cart- 
ridges, which we did. 

The chief informed me that Crowmore's wife 
had gone to Fort Sill, where she would report that 
we were outlaws, and that the police and soldiers 
would be looking for us in a short while, and we 
had better hire two of his men to stay with us the 



162 Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 

balance of that day and that night, in order to as- 
sist us in explaining our presence in the country, 
and that if I would give him five dollars he would 
let me have two of his men. I told him I would 
give him two dollars and a half, but he would not 
consent to take less than five dollars ; so we agreed 
upon that amount. All this conversation was car- 
ried on, of course, with the help of the lady who 
was with us. 

When I first saw that the Indians were con- 
vinced that we were not outlaws, I told the lady 
to ask them if they had seen anything of a white 
man; for I was uneasy about Shies, not having 
seen him since he went to Crowmore's camp; but 
the Indians replied that they had not seen anyone 
at all. A few minutes later Shies rode up, and 
said that he had just been riding around the coun- 
try scouting. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 163 

XXXVI 

The Arrest of Jerome Loftos 

While in Vernon helping to hold court in the 
trial of Joe Blake, who was alleged to have killed 
Sheriff Tom McGee, in Hemphill County, I re- 
ceived a warrant from Bowie County for the ar- 
rest of Jerome Loftos, who was wanted for stab- 
bing a man in New Boston ten years before that. 

I did not know that Loftos was in Vernon until 
Mrs. Aiken, the proprietress of the hotel, told me 
that a man by the name of Jerome Loftos was in 
the hotel the night before to see me. I asked Mrs. 
Aiken when the man would be back, and she re- 
plied, 'Tn a day or two." 

I told Mrs. Aiken that I would be glad to see 
Jerome, as I had not seen him but once, and that 
was a few days after the fight which I had had 
with his brother, Hill Loftos, in the dugout in the 
Comanche Strip. I began watching for Loftos, 
and the second morning after the lady told me that 
he was in town, I went into the gentlemen's sitting- 
room and found him standing by the stove. I did 
not recognize him, however, until after he had 
spoken to me and told me his name. 

When he told me that he was Jerome Loftos, I 
merely asked him if he had eaten his breakfast, 
and he replied that he had not. 

The first table was full, so I told him that we 
would watch our chance and eat at the next table. 

When we went to the table I let him sit on my 
right side, and I made it a point to get through 



164 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

eating before he did. Leaving the table after 
breakfast, we went into the gentlemen's sitting- 
room, where I found about twenty-five men stand- 
ing around. I did not want to arrest Loftos in the 
presence of these people, and, noticing that the 
stove in the ladies' sitting-room was heated up, I 
said to Loftos, "Let's go in yonder where there is 
a good fire." 

After we got in the/oom I told Loftos that I had 
a warrant for him. 

11 Where from?" he asked. 

"From New Boston," I replied. 

I searched him then, but found nothing but a 
pocket knife. I told him that I did not want to 
handcuff him, nor put him in jail; that for his sake 
I didn't want people to know that he was under 
arrest. 

I then notified the sheriff of New Boston that I 
had his man, but it was three days before he came 
to Vernon after him. I never jailed Loftos, 
though, nor put handcuffs on him, but I kept him 
in my sight all the time. I told Loftos to go with 
me when I took Joe Blake to the trial, and for him 
to sit near Blake, the defendant, so I could watch 
both of them at the same time. 

When the sheriff came after him, I told him 
that Loftos had behaved well, and that he deserved 
the good treatment which he had received at my 
hands. I told the sheriff that I would appreciate 
it if he would also treat him as courteously as the 
circumstances justified, as Loftos had been a good 
citizen ever since he stabbed the man ten years be- 
fore, and that he had been a good prisoner. 

Just as the train was pulling in Loftos asked me 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 165 

to let him speak to me. We walked a few steps 
away from the sheriff, and I told him that I was 
ready to listen to him. 

He asked me if I knew what he thought of me, 
and I told him that I did not. 

"I think you have been giving me dirt ever since 
you arrested me/' he replied. 

I immediately turned Loftos over to the sheriff, 
telling the latter that he had better handcuff and 
shackle him securely, as I had learned that I was 
greatly deceived in the prisoner, when I recom- 
mended, him so highly a few minutes before. I 
told Loftos that I was mighty glad he let me know 
what he thought of me before it was too late for me 
to do him any service. The sheriff did as I told 
him, and securely shackled and handcuffed Loftos, 
much to the latter's displeasure. 

Loftos stood his trial in New Boston and came 
clear. A year later I met him on a Fort Worth & 
Denver train, while I was going to Fort Worth. I 
was talking to a lady, when Loftos came through 
the car and greeted me, and told me that he wanted 
to see me in the smoker. I told him "alright." 
He then turned and went back into the smoker. 

u Who is that gentleman?" the lady asked. 

I told her that he was Jerome Loftos, and that 
I had once arrested him in Vernon. I also told 
her what Loftos said to me when the train rolled 
into Quanah, and, I added, that he might want to 
call my hand for telling the sheriff to handcuff and 
shackle him. 

"You ought not to go into the smoker if you 
think there will be trouble," she replied. 

Ltold her that I would go anyway, but when*! 



166 Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 

entered the smoking car, Loftos got up and intro- 
duced me to four or five men and treated me as 
cordially as he knew how. He motioned me to a 
vacant seat, and later on apologized to me for what 
he had said to me before he boarded the train in 
Quanah. "You treated me so nice when you had 
me in your charge/' he said, "that I have been 
sorry ever since then that I told you that you had 
been giving me dirt; for I knew at the time that 
you had not." 

"What prompted vou to make such a remark, 
then?" I asked. 

"I was mad at the world in general," he replied, 
"for I had led a better life ever since I cut the man 
in New Boston, and had worked hard on the 
ranches, and had saved my earnings and accu- 
mulated a little bunch of cattle. I had gotten a 
little start in life, and felt happy; but when you 
arrested me I realized that it was 'all up ' with me 
then, and knew I would have to spend everything 
I had to come clear. I was reckless, and never 
thought about what I said to you, but I am 
ashamed of it now, and hope you will forgive me 
and forget that incident." 

I told him that I had already forgiven him, and 
we were good friends ever after. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 167 

XXXVII 

The Capture and Trial of Swin 

In 1896 the citizens around Amarillo were con- 
stantly losing their fat cattle, and could not locate 
the cause, and I was informed by John Curry, who 
lived in the north edge of town, that he suspected 
old man Crump and his two sons, Albert and Bill, 
who lived two miles north of town, who were run- 
ning a butcher shop in Amarillo. Albert Crump 
lived in town, and did the selling of the beef. 
After learning all this from John Curry, I decided 
to lie around Crump's place, and try to catch him 
and his two boys in case they were stealing cattle. 
I watched the old man's place for quite awhile. 

One evening Sam Dunn and Hank Siders (both 
cattle inspectors) and I waylaid Crump's pasture, 
and a little before dark we heard a gunshot at his 
slaughter house. We waited about half an hour, 
in order to give him time to get his beef skinned, 
but we stayed a little too long. Billy, his son, 
about twenty-two years of age, took the beef to 
the city and placed it in the butcher shop. I fol- 
lowed the hack, and got there in time to stand out 
in the dark and see Billy carve the beef. The 
quarters of this beef looked to me, from a distance, 
to be about a two or three-year-old animal. I 
could see them from the light he had in his butcher 
shop. I said nothing to Bill; not even letting him 
know that I was in town. 

Hank and Sam and I went back to old man 
Crump's. It must have been about ten o'clock 



168 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

at night. I called out at the gate, and learned 
that old man Crump had gone to bed. He got up, 
however, and came about half way from the house 
to the gate, and asked me who I was. 

I told him that it was Sullivan. 

He told me to wait a minute until he went into 
the house to put on his shoes, as he was barefooted. 
I waited, although I believed that he was trying to 
"make medicine" or work his rabbit foot on me. 
When he got to the door I saw his wife slipping out 
to the west gate, in a stooped position, making her 
way to the slaughter house. I told her to come 
back, and not go about the slaughter house. She 
obeyed my command. 

Then I asked the old man if he' had killed a beef 
that evening. 

He said that he had. 

I told him that I wanted to see the hide. 

He said that it was in the slaughter house. 

We three dismounted and went to the slaughter 
house, and came very nearly being taken in by the 
worst set of dogs I ever saw. He must have had 
eight or ten vicious dogs. I think he kept those 
dogs on hand to bluff people, so they would not 
come anywhere about his place. 

When we arrived at the slaughter house, he 
pulled a hide out of a barrel of brine and threw it 
on the floor, with the hair side up. It being wet, 
it rattled as if it were a green hide. This hide 
must have been seven or eight days old. It was 
so dark in the slaughter house that I could not tell 
whether this was a fresh hide or an old one. I 
rubbed my hand over the hide and got the scent 
of it, and told the boys that the hide was an old 



Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 169 

one. I struck a match, and, as the slaughter house 
was open at the top, the wind would blow my 
matches out as fast as I could strike them. At 
last I told Mrs. Crump to go into the house and 
bring me a lamp or a lantern. She remarked that 
the wind would blow the lamp or lantern, either 
one, out, and that we had better take the hide into 
the house ; so I told the old man to take hold of 
one end of the hide and Hank the other. When 
we got into the house and threw the hide on the 
floor, I discovered that it was black, and that it 
was an old one with a brand on it, 

The old man asked me to let him step out of 
doors. I granted him this privilege, knowing that 
he was going to the slaughter house. The old man 
went directly to the slaughter house, and I went 
directly to the same place. When I reached the 
place I heard him drop the hide in this barrel of 
brine. Then he picked up a zinc tub to put over 
the barrel, and, as he did so, I arrested him. 

We left at once for town. After turning him 
over to Hank and Sam, I went to meet Billy, to 
arrest him and to keep him away from his father, 
so they could not "make medicine" together. 

I arrested Billy, and asked him a few questions 
in regard to the killing of this beef. I asked him 
if he had a bill of sale for the beef. 

He stated that he had. 

I asked him the name of the party he got the 
beef from, but he said he could not remember the 
name, still claiming that he had a bill of sale for the 
beef. 

I talked with him until his father was within 
hearing distance of him, and he called out some- 



170 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

thing to Billy in German, and I told Billy to turn 
his wagon around, and I took him to town and 
turned him over to John Bell, telling the latter to 
hold Billy until I arrested his brother, Albert, who 
was asleep in the butcher shop. 

As soon as I arrested Albert he asked where "Pa 
and Billy" were. I told him that I had them un- 
der arrest, too. "Lord, have mercy," was all he 
had to say. 

I placed the old gentleman in jail, and took Billy 
and Albert to my camp and shackled Billy to one 
of the ranger boys and Albert to another one, not 
letting either one of them speak to their father, nor 
to each other. 

The case was called for trial in Amarillo, but the 
defense got a change of venue to Clarendon, Don- 
ley County, and Billy was convicted, but got a new 
trial, and finally beat his case. The old man and 
Albert were also acquitted in their trial at Claren- 
don. John Veale and Bill Plemmans, two attor- 
neys from Amarillo, defended them. 

Mrs. Crump had three small children. Judge 
Plemmans and Judge Veale were shrewd enough 
to borrow three more children who lived in Claren- 
don, keeping the six children around Mrs. Crump 
all the time the trial was going on. In their 
speeches, the attorneys for the defense, would 
refer to the old lady and her six small children, 
keeping the old lady constantly crying and rub- 
bing her hand over the six children's heads. When 
she and her six children would cease crying, Judge 
Plemmans would step over to the woman and tell 
her that if she didn't keep the children and herself 
crying that the old man and the two boys would 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 171 

go to the pen a as sure as God made little apples." 
Once the old lady spoke out loud, and said that she 
had already cried so much that she couldn't cry any 
more if the whole family went to the pen. This 
caused quite a laugh in the court room at the ex- 
pense of Messrs. Veale and Plemmans. 



172 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XXXVIII 

The Capture of Ihart and Sprey 

. While at headquarters camp at Amarillo in 
1896, I received a letter from Jim Loving, Presi- 
dent of the Cattlemen's Association, asking me to 
go to San Angelo and out to Big Lake, in Tom 
Green County, and look through Major Look and 
his brother's pasture for burnt cattle. I went to 
San Angelo at once, and hired a wagon and team, 
and got Sheriff Shields and Cattle Inspector Moore 
to go out to Big Lake with me. I also took two 
negroes along, one to drive and cook, and the other 
to rustle the horses. 

While on my way to Big Lake, which is one hun- 
dred and five miles from San Angelo, I drew on my 
imagination considerably as to the kind of a lake 
I was going to and the scenery around it. I 
thought the lake would be full of good, clear water, 
and that I would see lots of antelope, deer, wild 
cats, coyote and lobo wolves, going there late in 
the evening for water. The lake was a mile and a 
half long and half a mile wide. 

We reached the lake at sunset, and our horses 
were very tired and thirsty, and so were we, but 
we didn't find a drop of water in that lake, and 
had to drive until late in the night before we could 
find water. 

Early the next morning we went to Look's pas- 
ture, where we spent the three following days 
rounding up the cattle and looking for burnt 
brands. We expected to find about a hundred 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 173 

burnt cattle, but only found three. We took them 
to San Angelo and gave them back to their own- 
ers. Then we arrested Major Look and his brother, 
and turned them over to the sheriff, and they were 
reported to the grand jury. 

The day after I had arrested the two Look 
brothers, a man walked up to me on the street and 
asked me if I was an officer, and I replied that I 
was. 

"Do you see that man standing on the sidewalk, 
about twenty steps from me on my left?" he then 
asked. 

I replied that I did. 

"I want you to arrest him," he said. 

"What for?" I asked. 

"He stole a five-dollar pair of pants from me at 
the hotel the other night, and he has them on 
now," he answered. 

I asked him if he would swear to the pants. 

"If I could get to examine them, I would," he 
replied. 

I arrested the man and took him to the rear of 
a nearby store, and the man who made the com- 
plaint went with us, and after examining the pants 
he swore that they were his. I then searched my 
prisoner, and found on him a pistol and some let- 
ters. Reading one of the letters, which was from 
his best girl in the Nation, I gained some valuable 
information concerning this man's record. A por- 
tion of the letter read this way : 

"Pet, you have treated your baby bad by steal- 
ing those horses and that saddle. The officers are 
hot on your trail, but my people are trying to make 
them believe that you are in Kansas and not in 



174 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Texas. You have gone to a mighty good place to 
get caught, Pet, and you had better get out of that 
State or you will be taken in. I am perfectly sur- 
prised at you, Pet, for committing that crime, and 
I don't see how you could have done it if you loved 
me." 

I learned that this man was Jack Ihart, a noted 
highway robber and horse thief. I turned him 
over to the sheriff, and he notified the officers in 
the Nation, and they immediately came after him, 
as he was very much wanted up there. Carrying 
sweethearts' letters got him into a lot of trouble. 

The following night a man asked me if I wasn't 
Sullivan, the ranger, and I told him that I was. 

u My name is Ed Smith. I guess you have heard 
of me before," he said. "I am an ex-convict, but 
I have something important to tell you." 

I told him "all right," and he asked me if I 
wanted a man by the name of Hill Loftos. 

I told him that I did, and that I wanted him 
very badly. 

He asked me if there was a reward out for him, 
and I told him that there was. 

Then he told me that if I would give him half 
the reward he would point Hill Loftos out to me. 

I told him that I would do that. 

He then told me that Hill Loftos was in the back 
end of a saloon gambling. I went to the hotel and 
got my handcuffs and put them in my pocket. 
Then we went to the saloon which he claimed 
Loftos was in. Reaching the front door, I told 
Smith to go in and see if Loftos was still playing- 
cards. He came back and reported that Loftos 
was not in there. We then went to every saloon 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 175 

in town, and I sent Smith into all of them to see if 
he could find Loftos, but he always reported that 
he failed to find him. 

Smith then said that Loftos had two aunts liv- 
ing near the depot, on the edge of the town, and 
that he might have gone to their house to go to 
sleep; so we struck out in that direction to find 
our man. It occurred to me that Smith might be 
leading me into a trap, as the house where the two 
old maids lived was surrounded by timber, and 
there were no lights in that part of the town; so I 
kept a close eye on the man who was helping me 
to find Hill Loftos. 

After reaching the depot, we inquired at ten or 
twelve houses to find out where the two old maid 
sisters lived, and were beginning to think that we 
would not succeed in locating the house, when we 
finally came to a house where the yard was full of 
pretty shade trees. The front gate was tied at the 
bottom with wire; so we went around to the back 
gate and found it, also, tied so it couldn't be 
opened. Thinking this place was vacant, we went 
across the street and aroused a lady, who told us 
that the two old maids lived in the house where 
the yard was full of trees, which was the place 
where we had tried to open the gate. 

I told Ed to go in the house and see if Hill Loftos 
was there. "If you see him," I said, "you tell him 
that you have won a big piece of money at a gam- 
bling dive; that a big game is going on, and that 
you are willing to stake him with money, and both 
go in together and see if you can't win a hundred 
dollars." I told Smith that I would hide at the 
corner of the paled fence, and that I would watch 



176 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

the gate and when he came out I would join them. 
I gave him instructions to stop and roll a cigarette 
when he came out, so that I would have plenty of 
time to catch up with him. 

Smith carried out my instructions to the letter. 
When I came out, I caught up with them and said, 
" Hello, gentlemen/' Both of them spoke very 
cordially to me. It was about one o'clock in the 
morning. 

I remarked that I had started down town to get 
a drink of beer, and asked them where the nearest 
saloon was. They pointed one out that was about 
forty yards in front of us. I invited them to take 
a glass of beer with me, and they said they would 
"with pleasure/' and we went on toward the sa- 
loon. 

While walking along I let Hill Loftos get a yard 
ahead of me, and I eased my sixshooter from the 
scabbard, holding on the trigger all the time, so it 
would not click when I cocked it. 

When I got everything in shape, I stepped up 
to his side and threw my sixshooter cocked 
in his face, and ordered, " hands up." He at once 
threw his left hand above his head, but placed his 
right hand over his heart. "Both hands up," I 
quickly said, and he immediately put his right 
hand up. I then pulled my handcuffs out, and, 
giving them to Ed, I told him to put them on 
Loftos, which he did. Then I arrested Ed, too, 
and asked him his name. He said it was Ed 
Smith. I did not want Ed, but did this to keep 
Loftos from thinking that Ed had told on him. 

Turning to the other man, I asked if he wasn't 
Hill Loftos, and he said he was not; that "Jack 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 177 

Sprey" was his name. He said he was from Greer 
County. 

"Have you been passing yourself off as Hill 
Loftos?" I asked. 

"No; I have not." 

I told him that I would hold him, anyway, and 
I carried him over and placed him in jail. I told 
Ed, in Sprey's presence, that I would guard them 
both, but, when daylight came, I turned Ed loose, 
of course; but I took the other man to Vernon, 
where I learned that he was wanted in the Indian 
Territory for horse theft. This man really was not 
Hill Loftos, but he told Ed that was his name, be- 
cause he knew of Loftos' bad reputation as a 
fighter, and he wanted Ed to be afraid of him. 
Hill Loftos is the man with whom I had such a 
fight in the dugout in the Comanche Strip, twenty- 
five miles from; Fort Sill. 



178 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XXXIX 

A Prize Fight Prevented 

While I was stationed at Amarillo, in 1896, our 
entire company, and three other companies, were 
ordered by Governor Culberson to go to El Paso, 
to keep the Fitzsimmons-Maher fight from being 
fought in Texas. 

We stayed in El Paso eighteen days to see that 
these prize fighters didn't pull off their exhibition 
in Texas. 

We, also, had to put down the tough element of 
the town, as thieves, robbers, pickpockets, and 
other classes of criminals were giving a great deal 
of trouble. 

One night while City Marshal John Sulman and 
I were on duty, we arrested twenty-six burglars 
and jailed them, one making his escape. John 
Sulman is the man who killed John Welsey Hardin 
in an El Paso saloon. 

One night, while in that saloon where Hardin 
was killed, I met John L. Sullivan and Paddy 
Ryan, prize fighters. While Sullivan and I were 
trying to rake up relationship, I noticed that 
Ryan's nose had been broken, and I asked him 
what caused it. 

"Fourteen years ago," he replied, "Sullivan and 
I had a prize fight in Mississippi and he warped 
my nose." 

About that time I heard a lot of shooting on the 
street. Sullivan, Ryan, and I were in the back of 
the building, and about three hundred men, the 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 179 

largest portion of whom were full of beer and 
whiskey, stood between me and the front door. 

When I heard the shooting, I was satisfied that 
some of the ranger boys had gotten into trouble 
with some tough character, and I decided to go to 
the street as quickly as I could and see what was 
the matter. I finally pulled through this crowd 
of men and reached the door, and when I stepped 
out upon the street, I heard three more shots. I 
located the direction of the shooting from the flash 
of the pistols, and discovered it was a special ranger 
trying to arrest an El Paso gambler, and a deputy 
sheriff from Greenville, who had fallen out over a 
game of cards and had come out upon the street 
to settle their trouble. When the two men reached 
the street, the ranger told them to be quiet or he 
would arrest them. The gambler got mad and 
fired at the ranger, and a general shooting scrape 
followed. Though each man fired several shots, 
no one was hurt. 

We arrested the two men who had resisted the 
ranger, and took them into the saloon through the 
back entrance. Much excitement prevailed among 
the men in the saloon, but after placing the two 
prisoners in the keeping of other officers, I went out 
the back way and walked around the building to 
guard the front door, as a crowd of men were try- 
ing to break it down and get into the saloon. «M 

I had ordered the door shut when the shooting 
first occurred, because I did not want anybody 
else to get into the building. There were about 
four hundred men, all tough characters, standing 
in the street with their sixshooters out, shining 
like new money. They tried a number of times 



180 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

toTmake me let them in, but I held the door shut 
against them. I knew that most of them were 
robbers and cut-throats, and that if they got into 
that crowd of men in the saloon they would spot 
out the diamonds and watches and shoot the lights 
out, and great slaughter and robbery would come 
off. 

Gen. W. H. Mabry, our State Adjutant General, 
came to me and told me to put my pistol up. 

I told him that I could not do it. About that 
time Eugene Miller, a special ranger, who was help- 
ing me to hold the door, yelled at me to "look out." 
I glanced quickly around, and there, standing be- 
hind me, was the man who stole Bill Cook away 
from me in Roswell, N. M. I could see the handle 
of his sixshooter, which he held in his hand behind 
him. 

Recognizing the man, in a moment, I turned 
and asked Miller why he had called me in such an 
exciting manner. 

" Everything is all right now," replied Miller, and 
the man left before anything else was said about 
the incident. 

In a few minutes, however, Miller asked me if I 
knew who that tall man was, who stood at my 
back, when he called to me to "look out." 

I told him that I did; that it was the man who 
stole Bill Cook from me, and with whom I had had 
some trouble as the result. 

Miller then told me that the man had his pistol 
cocked and pointed at my spine, and that when he 
called out to me, the man threw his hand and pis- 
tol behind him. 

It seems that the man was about to take ad- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 181 

vantage of the moment, while confusion reigned, 
and murder me from behind, because of his grudge 
against me. I told Miller that if I had caught the 
man pointing his gun at me, I would have killed 
him on the spot. 

I can safely say that I saw more tough charac- 
ters in El Paso at that time than I ever saw before 
in my life, or ever expect to see again. They were 
drawn to that town by the prize fight, which was 
about to be pulled off there. It took one hundred 
and fifty officers to preserve order and prevent the 
prize fight. 

The fight was pulled off in Old Mexico, about 
four hundred miles down the Rio Grande River. 
I wanted to go and see the fight, but I was re- 
quested by the Adjutant General to remain in El 
Paso with eleven rangers and help guard the three 
banks, which I did. 



182 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XL 
A Bank Robbery 

We went to El Paso in November, 1896, with 
four companies of rangers to prevent the prize fight 
between Fitzsimmons and Maher. After staying 
there about eighteen days, I started back to head- 
quarters. Two of my men asked me to let them 
get off at Bowie for a day, and I consented, after 
instructing them to come to Amarillo the next day, 
as we would likely have a great deal of work to do. 
I continued on my way to Amarillo, and when I 
reached Wichita Falls I received a telegram from 
C. Madson, the Chief Marshal at El Reno, I. T., 
to come there and surrender to him as I had a 
fight in the Comanche Strip. Two of my boys, 
Jack Howell and Lee Queen, were on the train 
with me, and I told them to get off and go to El 
Reno with me. They requested me, however, to 
let them go on to headquarters and get some 
clothes, and they come on to El Reno on the fol- 
lowing day. This was agreeable to me; so I spent 
that night in Wichita Falls, and the boys joined 
me next day, and we started to El Reno, after wir- 
ing to the other two men, who were on the north- 
bound train, coming from Bowie, to join me. 

When I arrived at Bellview I received a tele- 
gram to return to Wichita Falls on the north-bound 
train, as Frank Dorsey, the cashier of the bank at 
that place, had been killed and four men wounded 
by robbers. My two men and I then boarded the 
north-bound train, where I found my other two 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 183 

men, who had stopped at Bowie. Captain Bill 
McDonald also was on the north-bound train. 

Mr. J. A. Kemp, the president of the bank that 
was robbed at Wichita Falls, was on the south- 
bound train, and I told him to return to Wichita 
Falls with me, as he was needed at his bank. I 
stepped into the office and asked Annanias Moore, 
the operator, to wire the operator at Wichita Falls, 
to have me six horses and saddles waiting at the 
depot when I arrived at Wichita Falls. I asked 
George Clark, the conductor on the train, to put 
me in Wichita Falls before schedule time; but I 
think, from the rate the train ran, we reached 
Wichita Falls a little ahead of time. 

Mr. Kemp sat down by me, and asked me what 
the trouble was. I told him that his bank had 
been robbed, his cashier, Frank Dorsey, had been 
killed, and four other men had been wounded. He 
turned pale, and tears came into his eyes as he 
said, " Frank came to me this morning and asked 
me to let him resign, as he had a presentiment that 
he was going to be killed, but I talked him out of 
it," 

Three months before Dorsey was killed, I was 
called to Wichita Falls to guard the two banks, as 
twelve suspicious looking characters had been seen 
camping out near town, and the citizens thought 
they were bank robbers. I took six rangers with 
me, and we guarded the two banks for three days 
and nights, We went out one evening to the 
place where the men had camped, and found pic- 
tures of Bill Cook, Jim French, Frank Baldwin, 
Cherokee Bill, and other noted outlaws, thus con- 



184 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

firming the suspicions of the citizens who were un- 
easy about the banks. 

While we were guarding the banks on that oc- 
casion, Frank Dorsey came to me several times 
and said that he feared that he would be killed, 
but I told him there was no danger, as my men 
could hold out against any robbers. The suspi- 
cious characters left the country after we began 
guarding the banks, and the citizens of Wichita 
Falls no longer felt uneasy; so we rangers packed 
up and went back to Amarillo. 

Three months passed away, and everything was 
quiet and peaceful in Wichita Falls until the dread- 
ful day of the bank robbery, when the cashier, 
Frank Dorsey, was killed. The night before the 
robbery, Dorsey told his wife that the presenti- 
ment that he would be killed by bank robbers 
had come back to him stronger than ever. He 
said that he would resign his position the next 
morning; that he believed that if he didn't, he 
would be killed in a short time. 

His wife told him that it was all imagination; 
that he ought not to give up his work, as he had a 
family to support, and the president of the bank 
thought so much of him. He was easily persuaded 
by those arguments not to resign, and the next 
evening his dead body was carried home to a heart- 
broken wife, and the president of the bank was on 
the train hurrying back to Wichita Falls, mourn- 
ing the loss of a fine cashier and valuable friend. 

When we arrived at Wichita Falls, my horses 
were standing at the depot; but just as I stepped 
off the train, twenty or thirty men rushed me into 
the depot, telling me that the bank had been rob- 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 185 

bed and Frank Dorsey killed by two men, and they 
could talk^of nothing else but the reward — two 
thousand dollars — which had been offered by the 
bankers for the capture of the robbers. I told 
them not to talk to me about rewards, but to give 
me the descriptions of the two men. They did so, 
and we started out after them. Some of the citi- 
zens of the town were already out after the two 
robbers, but after we had gone a short distance, we 
met most of them coming back to town. Some of 
them, however, turned and joined us in our pur- 
suit. 

It was related to us that as the two robbers, 
whose names I learned to be Elmer Lewis and Fos- 
ter Crawford, started out of town, Frank Hogister 
killed Lewis' horse, and he rode behind Crawford 
until they met a man driving a little dun mare. 
They relieved this man of his animal, which Elmer 
rode bareback. They soon met two men, who 
were plowing in the river bottom, and took their 
two large plow horses, releasing the ones they were 
riding. These two plow horses were so large, 
though, that they didn't last long, and we soon 
found where the robbers had tied them in a thicket 
and then waded the Wichita River. 

Some of the men went a mile below this place 
and crossed the river on a bridge, and others waded 
the river where the robbers had, but we saw noth- 
ing of them that day, although we were satisfied 
that they were in some of the thickets in that vicin- 
ity. 

About eight o'clock that night we discovered 
them, after they had come out of a thicket, cross- 
ing an open space of prairie to another thicket, 



186 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

about seven hundred yards away. Captain Mc- 
Donald, Billy McCauley, Jack Harvell, Bob Mc- 
Clure and Lee Queen entered the north side, and 
I the south side, and we all came upon the robbers 
about the same time, and demanded their surren- 
der. When we found their sixshooters on the 
ground, a few minutes later, we discovered they 
were cocked, which showed that they came very 
near fighting us. They had their Winchesters 
hidden at Wichita Falls, but after they robbed the 
bank, and were leaving town, the citizens pre- 
vented the men from getting them. 

We recovered the money they had taken from 
the bank — six hundred and seventy-seven dollars 
and ten cents — and then went to a house close by 
and got supper, after which we returned to Wichita 
Falls, arriving there about four o'clock in the morn- 
ing. We guarded the jail the remainder of the 
night and all the next day, and, as everything 
seemed to be perfectly quiet, and as there were 
no signs of trouble, we left that evening on the 
north-bound train for our headquarters at Am- 
arillo. 

When we reached Childress we received a tele- 
gram ^stating that two thousand citizens were 
breaking into the jail. When we reached Claren- 
don we received another telegram stating that 
they had hung the robbers. 

The citizens of Wichita Falls got twelve hun- 
dred dollars of the reward, and the other rangers 
and I received the rest — eight hundred dollars. 

A few days later I went back to Wichita Falls, 
where I met Elmer Lewis' mother. She was stand- 
ing at the head of the table, watching me while I 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 187 

ate my dinner, and when I had finished, she asked 
me to come into her room, as she wanted to talk 
with me. After we entered, and she had closed 
and thumb-bolted the door, she asked me to take 
a rocking chair. 

"No, I do not care to sit in a rocker/ 7 1 answered, 
"for I had a rib broken not long ago, and it pains 
me when I sit in a rocker." 

"I have been wanting to see you ever since I 
came to Texas," she said, "I am Elmer Lewis' 
mother. Where w T ere you at the time Elmer was 
hung?" 

"I was at Childress." 

"How far is that from here?" 

"About one hundred and twenty miles," I re- 
plied, "but I was at Clarendon, sixty miles further 
up the road, when I received the news that the two 
men were hung." 

"If you had been here, do you think you could 
have prevented the hanging?" 

"I think not, as they were two thousand strong." 

"Of course, if that was the case, you could not 
have prevented it," she replied. 

"The jailer has my watch, that my son had," 
she continued, "and I wish you would get it for 
me." 

"How old are you, Mrs. Lewis?" 

"I am thirty-six," she answered. 

"You are so young looking that the people here 
do not believe you are Elmer Lewis' mother." 

"Well, you see I am Scotch-Irish, and you know 
we hold our age well." 

She asked me again about the watch, and I told 
her that if it was her watch she should have it. 



188 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

She then asked me to show her the way Lewis and 
Crawford went after they robbed the bank, and I 
pointed out the way to her, but never took my 
eyes off her; for when she bolted the door it made 
me somewhat suspicious, and when she asked me 
to have a rocking chair, it made me more so; for 
she knew that if I sat in a rocker I could not get 
to my pistol easily, and I concluded she had not 
asked me in her room for any good purpose, as she 
kept her hands under her apron all the time. She 
then asked me for my address, thinking, probably, 
I would lower my head while writing it, but I had 
an envelope in my pocket which had my address 
written on it; so I took the letter out and handed 
her the envelope, watching her all the time. We 
talked a while longer, and when I arose to leave, I 
walked backward to the door, keeping my eyes on 
her while I unlocked it, and then told her good- 
bye. 

I believe it was her intention to kill me, as she 
tried every way to get me to take my eyes off her ; 
but I was on the lookout. 

The watch, which she spoke of, was advertised 
in a newspaper, and a man and his wife came from 
Oklahoma and identified it, telling the jailer it had 
three letters in it, and that they were very dim, 
but could be seen upon close inspection, which 
proved true. They said the watch had been 
stolen from them. It did not belong to Mrs. 
Lewis. I received two letters from her, after she 
went back to Missouri, in regard to the watch. I 
learned from the sheriff of her county that she 
was Elmer Lewis' mother, notwithstanding the 
fact that she looked so young. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 189 

XLI 

A Call to Hartley 

In 1897, while a detachment of us ranger boys 
were stationed in Hartley, looking after- crime (as 
Hartley, at that time, was a very tough place, full 
of thieves and other bad characters, gambling and 
all kinds of lawlessness going on day and night), 
I was told that a man, in the back end of a saloon 
in a private room, was playing cards and putting 
up United States stamps in the place of money. 
I went into the room and looked on and saw him 
lose six dollars and seventy-five cents worth of 
stamps. I asked him if he was a postmaster. He 
stated that he was. I asked him where he was 
from. He said, "From Cold water, Texas. 7 ' I 
told him that I guess I would have to arrest him, 
as I was satisfied he was not a postmaster, and that 
he had stolen those stamps. 

After I had arrested him, he then told me that 
he was a deputy postmaster, and then I was satis- 
fied that J he had robbed that postoffice of these 
stamps. I held him in Hartley for a few days, un- 
til I could find out from the postmaster of Cold- 
water if this man was his deputy. The postmas- 
ter answered that he was, and that he had robbed 
the office of these stamps, and for me to be sure 
and hold; him, and he said this man also had a ne- 
gro woman for his wife. I wired the United States 
Marshal at Wichita Falls that I was holding this 
man for robbing the postoffice at Coldwater. We 
had no jail or calaboose in Hartley; so I kept him 



190 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

under guard three days and nights. Then I took 
him to Amarillo, and placed him in jail for the 
nearest marshal to come and get. Before leaving 
Hartley I learned that his negro wife was on a visit 
in Amarillo; so after reaching Amarillo and plac- 
ing him in jail, I thought it a good idea to hunt his 
negro wife. There were only six or eight negroes 
living in Amarillo. I located the house in which 
she was stopping, and found that three men and 
three negro women were stopping at this place. 
I knocked on the door, and someone inside told me 
to come in. I went in and asked, "Which one of 
you women is Mrs. Joe Jackson?" 

A yellow negro woman answered and said, "I 
am Mrs. Joe Jackson." 

Then I told her that I had come from Coldwater, 
and had met her husband, Mr. Joe Jackson. 
"When I left Coldwater," I continued, "your hus- 
band told me to hunt you up, saying that he was 
very sick at Coldwater." 

She said she was very sorry, and that she was 
glad I had informed her, and that she would take 
the first train for Coldwater. I then told her that 
her husband had told me the county they had mar- 
ried in. She told me that it was in Burleson 
County, Texas. I told her that I liked her hus- 
band very much, and that I thought he was a nice 
gentleman. She stated that he was very good and 
kind to her. I told her that he had told me who 
married them in Burleson County, but I had for- 
gotten. She said old Squire Blackburn had mar- 
ried them. She also stated he had two brothers, 
and also had two sisters, and that his father was 
dead; that his brothers, sisters, and mother dis- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 191 

liked it so much for him to marry her, that they 
left at once for Coldwater, and had been there ever 
since they had married. After getting the infor- 
mation from her that they were legally married, I 
then arrested her and placed her in jail, where I 
had placed her husband about one hour and a half 
before. When I got the jailer up, about one or 
two o' clock in the night, he opened the door, and 
she spoke. Her husband recognized her voice 
from his cell and asked, "Is that you, Annie?' 7 
and she answered, "It is." Then she asked, "Is 
that you, Joe?" and he answered that it was. 
"This officer has got me arrested," she replied, 
"and told me he met you in Cold water, and that 
you were very sick, and stated for me to hurry 
home, and he got me to make a statement about 
us being married, and after making my statement 
he arrested me." That gave the State a case, as 
it was a violation of the law for a white man and a 
negro woman to marry in Texas. 



192 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XLII 

On the Trail of Train Robbers 

While in Amarillo I was notified, in 1899, by the 
Adjutant General, that a train was robbed at Ben- 
brook, fourteen miles from Fort Worth, on the 
T. & P. Railroad. J. V. Goode, superintendent of 
the Fort Worth & Denver, had a car sent for our 
horse and saddles. After loading the horses and 
saddles on, we crawled into the caboose, and the 
car was hitched onto the south-bound passenger 
train, and we arrived in Fort Worth on schedule 
time. 

Sheriff Eulis, of Tarrant County, joined us at 
Fort Worth, and Superintendent Thorn, of the T. 
& P.lRailroad, had our car hitched to an engine 
and we left immediately for Weatherford. Every- 
thing between Fort Worth and Weatherford was 
side-tracked, and, having an open track all the 
way, we made a quick run, arriving at our desti- 
nation that evening. We unloaded our horses and 
saddles, and spent the night in Weatherford. 

The following morning we were joined by the 
sheriff of Parker County, and all of us started out 
together to look for the robbers. At Springtown 
the sheriff of Tarrant County had to leave and go 
back to Fort Worth. 

We searched the whole country around Weather- 
ford, finally striking the trail of two men, who were 
1 well armed, each having two belts of cartridges, a 
Winchester, and sixshooter. One of the men w T as 
mounted on an iron grey stallion, while the other 



Twelve Years iist the Saddle. 193 

was mounted on a black, bald face, stocking leg 
horse. 

We followed the trail of these two men, and 
struck the Fort Worth & Denver road at the town 
of Sunset. While crossing the country, near Red 
River, I lost the trail, but I learned that a Joe 
Couch had loaned an iron grey horse to a stranger 
about two weeks before the robbery, and had never 
seen it since. I looked for Couch, but failed to find 
him. I decided that the robbers were playing fox 
on us and had turned back; so we dropped back, 
too, going to Decatur, and tried there to get all the 
information that we could concerning the fugi- 
tives. 

While I was in Decatur, I had occasion to call 
up Irby Duncan, in Fort Worth, on a little busi- 
ness, and Col. R. D. Hunter, president of the T. & 
P. Coal Company, got the other end of the line for 
a few minutes, and asked me how I was getting 
along with the train robbers. 

I told him that I had lost their trail, and it did 
not look like I was going to find it again. 

He asked me if I had been notified that the Rock 
Island had been held up and robbed the night be- 
fore. 

I told him that I had not; so he notified S. B. 
Hoovey, superintendent of the Rock Island, that 
I was in Decatur with six rangers. I asked Col. 
Hunter to have Captain McDonald, who was in 
Fort Worth at that time, found and brought to 
the phone. McDonald gave me a little more in- 
formation about the Rock Island hold-up, and I 
quit the trail of the Benbrook robbers at once, and 
went to work on this other case. 



194 Twelve \ears in the Saddle. 

I went to Bridgeport, reaching there in a few 
minutes, and found transportation, which Super- 
intendent Hoovey had sent me. A little later on 
Hoovey came up to Bridgeport from Fort Worth 
on the train that was to pull us to Red River. 
Hoovey and I discussed the situation at some 
length. 

Before leaving Bridgeport, I found Joe Couch, 
the one who loaned one of the Benbrook robbers 
a grey horse. I found him playing cards, and I 
took him and his horse with me on the train to Red 
River. 

Reaching Red River, I learned that the robbers 
had boarded the train on the Texas side, and while 
the train was crossing the river they relieved the 
passengers of all their money and jewelry. Arriv- 
ing in the little town of Harrel, on the other side 
of the river, we discovered that the officers of that 
community had captured the robbers and placed 
them in the depot, where they were kept under 
guard. We put the prisoners and the officers, who 
had them in charge, on our train and took them 
to Duncan. The marshal of that town claimed 
the men, but they were given over to the Texas 
authorities, and we put them in jail in the town of 
Montague, in Texas. They were tried twice, and 
succeeded in beating their cases. I was on hand 
at the trial, and we encountered lots of toughs, who 
were in town to intimidate the court and get their 
friends clear. 

I was satisfied that these men were the same 
men who had held up the train at Benbrook, and I 
told the others that. I received a letter from Sher- 
iff Pat Ware, of Cooke County, that there was an 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 195 

iron grey stallion in the livery stable at Gainesville ; 
so I went at once to that town and had the sheriff 
point the horse out to me. I also asked the sheriff 
if he knew the man's whereabouts, and he said he 
thought he was across the river in the Indian Ter- 
ritory. I learned before I left headquarters camp 
a second time, that this grey stallion belonged to 
a man at Henrietta. 

Pat Ware and I went across the river to look for 
this man, who had stolen the grey stallion, and 
about seven miles on the other side we learned 
that there was a suspicious looking stranger pick- 
ing cotton at a certain farm. We went at once to 
this place, and, going into the field, we saw a clus- 
ter of men, all picking cotton. 

I had never seen the man before, but ever since 
I had been on his trail the first time, I had had him 
described to me so often, that I knew him before 
Pat and I had gotten close to him. Pat also knew 
the man from the description I had given of him. 

He surrendered to us, without any trouble on 
our part, and we asked him, in the presence of sev- 
eral witnesses all around him, if he was willing to 
go across the line without any requisition. 

He said that he was ; so we handcuffed him, and, 
hiring a horse, we left with him at once for Gaines- 
ville. 

When he neared the river, he remarked that he 
believed that he would not cross the line without 
a requisition. We told him that we would show 
him whether he would cross over or not, as he had 
said before fifteen or twenty witnesses that he 
would go into Texas with us without requisition. 
He then went on to Gainesville with us without any 



196 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

further trouble. We gave him a bed in the Gaines- 
ville jail that night, and took him the next morn- 
ing to Henrietta, where we notified the owner of 
the grey horse that he could get his property. Our 
prisoner was wanted for selling mortgaged mules, 
as well as for stealing this horse. 

The Benbrook train robbers, whom we came so 
near capturing several times, were finally caught 
in Fort Worth by local officers. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 197 

XLIII 

The San Saba Mob 

In 1896 I was ordered by Governor Culberson 
to go to San Saba and put down the mob that had 
existed there for sixteen years. Governor Culber- 
son sent me because he knew I was well posted 
with this mob, for I had been sent there in 1890, 
as stated in a preceding chapter, to preserve order 
while court was going on. I had also been a wit- 
ness in the Campbell case ever since then, and was 
familiar with all the leading people on both sides 
of the wrangle. 

By this time the situation had reached a very 
perplexing stage in San Saba. The men of both 
factions were very bitter and aggressive. Good 
and bad citizens, both, were on either side. In 
their continued strife both factions had lost sight 
of the lofty ideals (which had probably at first 
actuated them), and now allowed their animal 
passions to overcome them. The mob people had 
originally organized to put down lawlessness, 
while the a anti-mobists" had organized to oppose 
mobism, because they thought the law should be 
allowed to take its own course; but those first 
principles had long been forgotten. Lawless peo- 
ple had joined both factions, and had introduced 
their evil influences among members of each side. 

When the mob was first organized it started out 
by preventing crime, especially stealing, but now 
lawlessness was being encouraged by both sides, 
and could not be suppressed by local authorities. 



108 Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 

The bitterness between the two factions had be- 
come so great that a number of murders occurred, 
and were traced to one or the other side. The 
State finally had to step in and put down the strife 
by suppressing the mob, as that was the side which 
was arrayed against the law. Cattle thieves, mur- 
derers and other criminals were also given prompt 
attention, irrespective of the faction to which they 
belonged. 

When we went to San Saba, I took Dud Barker 
from Company B, and Captain J. H. Rogers sent 
me two men from his company — -Edgar T. Neal 
and Allen Maddox. Barker and I were joined by 
the two other rangers, Neal and Maddox, when we 
reached Goldthwaite. Sheriff Hudson, of San 
Saba also met us at Goldthwaite with a wagon 
and team. The three rangers under me went to 
San Saba in the wagon, and Sheriff Hudson took 
me over in his buggy. 

The county furnished me with a wagon, harness, 
and a span of mules, and the State furnished me a 
cook. We spent three days in the town of San 
Saba, and then left for Hannah's Crossing, on the 
Colorado River. 

That was a beautiful place to camp, and that 
part of the river was one of the finest fishing spots 
in the world. We remained there four months, 
and enjoyed our stay, except for the danger we 
were in when we first arrived there. 

The people of both factions, especially the mob 
element, were antagonistic to us when we first went 
to San Saba, and our lives were in danger. When 
we four boys pitched our tent at Hannah's Cross- 
ing, we shook hands with each other and made a 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 199 

solemn pledge that we would stay there and do 
our duty if we all had to die together. We vowed 
that we would arrest anybody of either faction, 
whom we caught disobeying the law, and that we 
would die working the lever of our guns before we 
would give up our prisoners, no matter how many 
men we had to fight. 

When we pitched our camp, we expected that 
we would never have to move it again; for it 
seemed to me that we were doomed to die at the 
hands of some of the people of the bad element, 
who were indignant at our coming to San Saba. 
We went about our work quietly, however, and 
made friends with everybody we could, and showed 
them that we were not after anybody but those 
who maliciously violated the law. The better 
class of people soon began to treat us kindly, and 
we were often invited to take dinner with them. 
We always accepted their invitations, and would 
eat one day with a member of the mob, and the 
next day we would probably dine with some one 
of the anti-mob faction. We showed no partial- 
ity to either side, and in that way we gained the 
respect of the law-abiding citizens of both factions, 
and our stay in San Saba was, for the most part, 
quite pleasant. With the tough characters, how- 
ever, we had some rough times, and I met with 
quite a number of thrilling experiences, some of 
which I shall relate in following chapters. 

Hannah's Crossing was twenty miles from San 
Saba, on the San Saba & Brown wood Railroad. 
When we went out to it, we were accompanied by 
Sheriff Hudson, who stayed at our camp a day or 



200 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

two before he went back to town. We located in 
Jim Linsey's pasture, which was near the river. 

A week before we pitched camp, three men con- 
cealed themselves in this pasture one day and as- 
sassinated Bill James, a well-known citizen, while 
the latter was going after water in his wagon. We 
tried to capture the assassins, but they had a 
week's start on us; so we gave up, as we had lots 
of other work to do, and left it to the county offi- 
cials to ferret out the perpetrators of the James 
murder. 

During the trouble between the two factions in 
San Saba, a Mr. Turner, an anti-mobist, was killed, 
and, it was alleged, that he was murdered by Matt 
Ford and Tobe Bridge, two members of the mob. 
The trial, which took place at Austin, was sensa- 
tional, and created state- wide interest. Ford and 
Bridge were defended by Governor Hogg, Judge 
James Robertson, and Judge Pendexter, of Aus- 
tin, and Attorneys John and Ab Walters, brothers, 
of San Saba. They were as good lawyers as the 
State afforded. Judge Albert Burleson and W. C. 
Linden were the prosecuting attorneys. There 
were 369 witnesses. Judge Morris was the district 
judge. The two men were at last acquitted, and 
went back home to live, and they led a different 
life and made good citizens. 

The two factions in San Saba finally made peace 
with each other and buried the hatchet. The last 
time I was with them they were going to church 
and visiting each other, and all signs of former 
strife and bad feeling had faded away. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 201 

XLIV 
A Bad Dog. 

I was summoned from San Saba, where I was at 
work putting down a mob, to Wellington, Collings- 
worth County, to appear against some cattle 
thieves. While in Wellington I was presented 
with a large dog, which weighed a hundred and 
ten or fifteen pounds. He was a hound, and 
looked to be very ferocious. 

I thought it would be a good idea to take him to 
San Saba, pass him off as a fine bloodhound, and 
get the people afraid of him, as that would help me 
to put down some of the lawlessness that reigned 
there. 

When I went to Fort Worth, I bought a fine col- 
lar and two chains for him. I named my dog 
"Bill." I expressed him to Lometa, where he and 
I were to take the stage to San Saba. 

I put both chains on Bill, to make people think 
he was very hard to hold. When we arrived at 
Lometa, I chained the dog to the stage. He reared 
and surged against the chains furiously, and acted 
like he would tear the earth up if he could get loose, 
but it was all nothing but pretensions, for the dog 
really was no account for anything. When he 
reared around, growled, showed his teeth, and 
tried to break the chains, he looked as dangerous 
as a lion ; and I was glad of it, for I wanted him to 
fool the people, and make them think I had a dog 
that would tear them up if he was sent after them 
when they committed crime. He reminded me' of 



202 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

a man who seems anxious to get into a fight, al- 
though deathly afraid of the other fellow. 

The stage driver was afraid of Bill and would not 
go near him. 

That night at ten o'clock an old nestor from the 
the woods walked up to the stage to get a jug of 
syrup that he had sent for that morning. When 
Bill got scent of the old man and his two dogs, he 
at once got on the warpath and charged around 
like a lion. The stage driver said to the man: 

"Please do not come any nearer. Sullivan has 
his bloodhound on the stage, and he is about to 
turn everything over now. If he should break 
loose he might kill you and your dogs too. I will 
set your jug of syrup down, and when I drive away 
you can get it." 

This break of Bill's gave him a big reputation as 
a ferocious bloodhound to start off with. The 
stage driver asked me to give him BilPs record, 
and he also wanted to know where I got such a 
fine dog. 

I did not inform the stage driver that Bill was 
a worthless dog; that he had been raised on the 
streets of Wellington, but I told him he had been 
given to me by a friend of mine who lived in New 
York. I told him that Bill had done wonderful 
work for the officials at Sing Sing, in running down 
the most noted criminals in the United States. 

The people in the stage gasped at that, and I 
told them that I would use Bill on the criminals in 
San Saba. 

I felt it my duty to tell the people these tales 
about this dog, for the odds were against me in 
San Saba, and my life would not be in so much 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 203 

danger if the people were afraid of Bill. Besides 
that, some people might refrain from committing 
crime, for fear this dog would catch them, and 
either hurt them or bring them to justice. 

I reached San Saba about twelve o'clock that 
night, and put up at the hotel. By the next morn- 
ing the news had spread all over the country about 
me bringing Bill with me, and people flocked in 
from every direction to see Bill. They asked me 
all kinds of questions about him, and, time and 
again, I told them his whole wonderful history. 

They asked me to let him chase somebody, but 
I told them that he was in San Saba for straight 
business, and not for foolishness. "At the proper 
time," I said, a he will show his blood ; but the main 
reason why I don't let him chase someone for fun, 
is that he might kill somebody, and I do not want 
to be responsible for anything like that." 

They thought that was a good reason, and they 
were more afraid of him than ever. 

I was detained so long by the people who wanted 
to see Bill that I didn't reach my camp until that 
afternoon. I kept my dog with me at Hannah's 
Crossing, and the people all up and down the river 
came to my camp to see him. I kept his fine col- 
lar on him, and he looked very vicious as he reared 
against the two chains and snapped and snarled at 
the visitors and showed his big, sharp teeth. 

I cautioned the people not to get too close to 
him, telling them that he was not a play-dog. I 
also told them not to look too hard at him, for fear 
he would break the chains and tear somebody up 
before I could get him under control. The people 



204 Twelve Years in" the Saddle. 

minded me very well, and I never did have any 
trouble between them and the dog. 

Not a single murder occurred while I had Bill, 
and I had no occasion to use him, for which I was 
very thankful, as Bill would have proved an abso- 
lute failure had I ever unchained him and set 
him off after a criminal. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 205 

XLV 

A Good Time Lost 

One Sunday morning while we were camping at 
Hannah's Crossing, all four of us rangers — Edgar 
Neal, Allen Maddox, Dud Barker and I — were in- 
vited across the river to participate in a "Hard- 
shell Baptist foot- washing." 

We accepted the invitation, and enjoyed the 
meeting very much. The members of the congre- 
gation asked us to stay with them for dinner, as 
they were to have a spread on the grounds, and 
they desired very much to have us eat with them. 
They were to introduce us boys to the young peo- 
ple, and we were intending to have a very sociable 
afternoon. We had told the people that we would 
eat with them, and had made arrangements to 
stay all day; but just as the doxology was being 
sung, our cook, whom we called Tom, came to the 
church in "fool's haste/' lit off his horse at the 
church door, and asked a man who was sitting on 
a back seat to get us rangers for him. 

We went out as soon as the man said that Tom 
wanted us. Tom informed us that there were two 
men at camp who desired very much to see us, and 
for us to go as quickly as possible. 

We made a break for our horses, jumped into 
our saddles, and made a three-mile run in a few 
minutes, believing all the time that when we 
reached camp we would hear that someone in the 
neighborhood had been killed. 

When we arrived at our destination we found 



206 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

the two men waiting for us. One of them said he 
wanted to speak to me. He took me off where the 
others couldn't hear him, and, in whispers, told me 
that on the day before, while he was in the cotton 
patch, someone had entered his smokehouse and 
stolen twelve pounds of bacon. I told him at once 
that if it wasn't Sunday I would hang him for 
causing us rangers to run our horses nearly to 
death, besides missing our dinner and a good time 
with the young people, just because he had twelve 
pounds of bacon stolen from him. We offered to 
go and see about the theft, however, and the next 
morning we got our horses and started over to his 
place, which was about nine miles from camp. 

While riding along the road we got thirsty, so we 
stopped in at a house and got a drink of water. 
When we entered the yard we saw two ladies in 
the hallway of the house sewing on a quilt. When 
we asked their permission to get a drink of water, 
one of the ladies politely told us to come in and 
help ourselves, which we did. 

After we had finished drinking, she seated us, 
and said she thought she knew where we were go- 
ing. 

" Maybe you do," I said, in a manner that in- 
vited her to speak on and tell us what was in her 
mind. 

"I think you are going to see about some bacon 
that was stolen last Saturday afternoon," she re- 
plied. 

"Yes, we have started over that way," I said. 

"I have no idea," she continued, u that anyone 
stole that bacon. The smokehouse door was left 
open, and I think the dog went in and dragged a 



Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 207 

few pounds of meat out. The man married a mere 
child, and I suppose she left the door open herself, 
when she went down to the field to see her hus- 
band." i 

When the old lady got through talking, I spoke 
up and asked, u Why didn't the crazy man marry a 
woman that was old enough and had sense enough 
to keep house for him." 

"His wife is my daughter/' she replied, and then 
the rangers had the laugh on me. 

Conversation between the old lady and me then 
ceased for a few minutes, and I thought of the good 
time I would have had Sunday, and the trouble I 
would have been saved, if those two men had not 
ridden nine miles to our camp, and made the cook 
ride three more miles and summon all four of us 
rangers, and cause us to ride nine miles and back 
for nothing the next day; all because a dog had 
stolen ten or twelve pounds of bacon. 

As we expected, we found no bacon thief, and 
went back to camp feeling rather done up, and 
wishing to forget the incident as long as we lived. 



208 Twelve Years in - the Saddle. 

XLVI 

Fording the River 

Soon after dark one evening, while we were 
camping at Hannah's Crossing, I received a mes- 
sage from the postmaster at Indian Creek, in 
Brown County, saying that the postoffice at that 
place had been robbed. I was urged to go to the 
scene of the robbery at once; so we packed one of 
the mules and immediately started for Indian 
Creek. 

It was very dark, and rain was pouring down in 
torrents, but we went on anyway, and tried to find 
a place where we could ford the river, as we wanted 
to cross it before daylight. 

We went up the river about twelve miles, bat 
still could find no place where we thought it was 
safe to cross. We feared that it was raining so 
hard further up the river that we couldn't cross 
any better up there than where we were, so we de- 
cided to stay at Bill Martin's house, which was 
nearby, until daylight. 

We went up to Mr. Martin's house and called 
him to the door. 

He asked me who we were. 

I told him that I was Sullivan, and that I had 
the Texas rangers with me. 

It was raining so hard that it was only with diffi- 
culty that we could hear each other talk. Martin 
invited us to spend the night in the house with him, 
but we told him we couldn't stop unless it was im- 
possible for us to ford the river. 




W. J. L. SULLIVAN 

Marshal of the Day at the Cowboys' Reunion at Seymour— 20,000 

Whites and 503 Comanches present. Held four days 

and nights, perfect order maintained. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 209 

We then asked him if he thought we could make 
it safely to the other side. 

In reply, he said that if it has rained above as 
it has here, the river is bound to be " swimming/ 7 
and that he would advise us not to cross the river 
tonight. He again invited us to spend the night 
in the house with him, but we were so wet that we 
decided it wouldn't do for us to go in and sleep in 
his beds and get them damp; so I asked Mr. Mar- 
tin to let us sleep in his gin-house, since we could 
not cross the river, and did not want to go in his 
house in our condition. 

He assured us that that would be perfectly 
agreeable to him ; so we went into the gin, and 
each one of us dug a hole in the cotton and slept 
in it. The next morning, when we got up, we 
found that the heat of the cotton had nearly 
dried us. 

Mr. Martin and his wife fixed a good breakfast 
for us, and as long as I live I shall never forget 
that big dish of fried chicken and that pot of deli- 
cious coffee that they had prepared for us. 

After breakfast we went to the river to see if it 
was very high, and found that it was just about 
" swimming." It looked sHly for wise men to 
plunge into that river; but we four boys split it 
wide open, leading our pack mule, and crossed 
safely over to the other side. 

We reached Indian Creek that day, and cap- 
tured the men who had robbed the postoffice. I 
sent them to Brownwood by Barker and Maddox, 
and they stood trial for the robbery and beat the 
case. Edgar Neal and I remained in that com- 
munity several days looking up testimony for the 
State. 



210 Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 

XLVII 

Girls Try to Kiss Neal 

While looking up testimony in the country 
around Indian Creek, a few days after the post- 
office robbery, Edgar Neal and I came to a house 
where a Mrs. Hogan, a widow, and her four daugh- 
ters lived. It was about an hour and a half before 
sun-down when we arrived at Mrs. Hogan' s house. 
We had learned before reaching this place that the 
two men whom we had arrested had stopped there 
the night they committed the post office robbery. 
Mrs. Hogan said that they left her house that night 
at eleven o'clock. She also informed us that the 
two men lived directly east of her, and when they 
left the house the night of the robbery they climbed 
over the fence and went due west, the direction of 
the postoffice. The evidence that we had accu- 
mulated that day and the things Mrs. Hogan told 
us that evening, led us to believe that we had ar- 
rested the right parties. 

When we first went into her house and seated 
ourselves, Mrs. Hogan asked us if we were strangers 
in that part of the country. I replied that we 
were, and I told her my name. She gave me her 
name, and treated me in a cordial manner. I saw 
at once that they were well-to-do, cultured people, 
and, after introducing myself, I presented Mr. Neal 
to Mrs. Hogan. 

"Mrs. Hogan," I said, "allow me to introduce 
you to Mr. Neal." 

"Is it Bedgar Neal?" she asked. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 211 

"It is," Edgar answered. 

"My dear nephew/' she joyfully exclaimed, 
"why didn't you let me know you when you first 
came in? I thought I recognized those eyes when 
you first stepped in at the door." 

She made a dive at Edgar, and grabbed him by 
the hand. She looked like she was trying to kiss 
him, but he leaned his head out of her reach. Then 
she asked him how "Dona and the baby were." 
He replied that they were both well. 

"You have fleshened up mightily," she said. 

He nodded. 

I was just about to tell the old lady that she 
was mistaken in this man, when she called out to 
her four daughters, who were in the next room, 
and said, "Come in, girls, Cousin Bedgar is here." 

All four of them came hopping and skipping in 
at once, and they were as pretty as any girls I ever 
saw. I was wishing that they would make some 
mistake about me; but they didn't; Edgar got the 
benefit of it all. 

The lady introduced the girls to him, for fear he 
had forgotten some of their names. Then they be- 
gan to hanging on him, and trying to kiss him. He 
played the same game on them, however, that he 
played on the old lady; he ducked his head and 
leaned it over to one side. 

After they got through hugging each other, Ed- 
gar and the four girls sat down together in the mid- 
dle of the room. 

One of the girls asked Edgar how Dona and the 
baby were. 

He replied that they were both well. 

"You have fleshened up so we like to have not 



212 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

known you/' another girl observed, when she had 
a chance to speak. 

Now, while all this was going on, my heart was 
beating like a mule kicking down hill. I was 
frightened. I knew if they discovered their mis- 
take and found out this was not " Cousin Bedgar," 
that they would make it hot for us, for the old 
lady had a game appearance, and, also, the four 
girls ; so I kept asking questions about the robbers, 
for fear they would keep talking to Edgar and get 
him tangled up and learn that he was fooling them. 
Whenever they asked Edgar a difficult question, 
I broke into the conversation and asked some im- 
portant question about the robbers, thus saving 
Edgar from answering their queries. 

Finally it got to where I could stand it no longer, 
and I said, " Ladies, we will have to be traveling, 
as we are on urgent business.' 7 

The old lady and all four girls spoke up and said 
at once, " Cousin Bedgar, you are not going to 
leave us now, are you?" Holding to his arms and 
coat, they continued, "Cousin Bedgar, you have 
not been here in so long, you cannot leave here 
tonight." 

I spoke up and said, "We are forced to go, la- 
dies. We will return tomorrow evening and spend 
the night," and Edgar said, "Yes we will. I see 
you have a piano, and we will sing and play." The 
old lady said, "My dear boy, you should not leave 
your aunt tonight." 

We were both satisfied that we had spent about 
all the time we could spare at that place; so, 
after telling the family good-bye, we quickly made 
for our horses. We laughed a great deal about the 



Twelve Years in" the Saddle. 213 

joke on Mrs. Hogan, and often wondered how we 
came out of it alive. We learned afterward that 
they enjoyed the joke very much, and when the 
girls first realized that their mother had caused 
them to be fooled, they took it good-naturedly, and 
in a spirit of fun, they pounded her considerably on 
the back. 

Edgar Neal enjoyed jokes immensely, and was 
a good-hearted man. He quit the ranger com- 
pany at San Saba and became the sheriff of that 
county, making the people a splendid officer dur- 
ing the eight years that he served them. 



214 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XLVIII 

The Capture of Wax Lee 

While I was stationed at San Saba, Tom Grey, 
a hardware man of that town, received a letter ad- 
dressed to a man with his name. Upon opening 
it, he saw that it was written by someone in Paris, 
and was meant for another "Tom Grey." 

In this letter the Paris man warned his friend 
in San Saba that the officers were still looking for 
him, and that he had "gone to a mighty good place 
to get caught." The letter also revealed the fact 
that the man's real name was Wax Lee, and that 
"Tom Grey" was his alias. 

When Mr. Grey, the merchant, told me about 
the letter, I knew at once that the other "Torn 
Grey" was badly wanted somewhere; so I went to 
the postoffice and waited for someone to call for 
the letter. 

Late that evening Mr. Jim Brooks, brother to 
Judge Brooks of Austin, came to the postoffice 
and called for the letter which was addressed to 
Tom Grey. I asked Mr. Brooks if he knew anyone 
by the name of Tom Grey. He replied that he 
had a man by that name working for him, and that 
Grey had a companion with him. 

Brooks lived about twelve miles out of town; 
so I got a buggy and went out to his place. Brooks 
went in the buggy with me, and I sent the three 
ranger boys out there on horseback. I hadn't re- 
covered from the injuries, which I received while 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 215 

chasing Del Dean, and was not able to ride horse- 
back. 

When we reached the farm Brooks led us to an 
old house, where the two men were camping. We 
could not get the buggy right up to the house, how- 
ever, on account of a slough, which emptied into 
the Colorado River, and which lay between us and 
the house. This slough was so muddy and boggy 
that I could not get the buggy across, as I have 
stated before; so I sent the three other rangers 
over on their horses, and told them to capture the 
men and be very careful in making the arrests. 

After the boys had gone I discovered a tent 
about forty yards in front of me, and thinking 
that the man I wanted might possibly be in it, I 
got out of the buggy, and, leaving Brooks to hold 
the horses, I walked toward the tent to see what I 
could find. Brooks had told me that Lee was dark 
complected, and when I had nearly reached the 
tent, a man of that description came to the door. 
I decided to arrest him, but, when I started toward 
him, Jim Brooks called out and told me that the 
boys had arrested the men; so I whirled around 
and went back to the buggy. When the rangers 
got back to the buggy I saw that Brooks was mis- 
taken, for the boys had captured only one man, 
and he was the companion of the one I was after. 
Brooks saw and heard the rangers when they made 
the arrest, but took it for granted that they had 
captured two men instead of one, and, being thus 
mistaken, he informed me wrong. 

When I turned and walked away from the tent, 
Wax Lee, the man whom I started to arrest, broke 
and ran toward the river, crossed the slough, and 



216 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

hid in the brush, which was thick all along there. 
I saw the man running, and when the rangers 
turned their prisoner, a young fellow, over to me, 
I told them to go after the other man immediately. 

I mounted Brooks and sent him along with 
them, as I knew they would have a hard time find- 
ing the man, if he hid in the brush, and they would 
need all the help they could get. 

As I was afraid he would do, the man hid in the 
brush, and the boys couldn't find him anywhere. 
After searching the brush a little while they gave 
it up, and got together to plan what was the best 
move to make next. During the conference, Dud 
Barker discovered that while he was loping his 
horse a few minutes before that, his sixshooter had 
worked around too far behind him, and while talk- 
ing to the other man he reached around and pulled 
his gun in front of his belt to readjust it. None of 
the men knew that Wax Lee lay hidden within a 
few feet of them while they were wondering where 
he had gone to, and Lee could not understand what 
the men were saying ; so when he saw them stop, he 
thought he had been discovered, but decided to lie 
still, thinking that he might be mistaken. When 
he saw Dud Barker pull his pistol in front on his 
belt, however, he thought that he had surely been 
discovered, and imagined that Barker was going 
to shoot him, so he called out and asked the rang- 
ers not to kill him. He then surrendered to the 
boys, who were very much surprised, since they 
had not seen him before he crawled out of the 
brush. 

The rangers fired their sixshooters, to let me 
know that they had captured their man. When 



Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 217 

I heard the shots, however, I was afraid that they 
were having a battle with Lee, but pretty soon 
they brought him up, and we took the two pris- 
oners to town. 

When the boys brought him up to the buggy, 
Lee told me that he was satisfied just as soon as he 
saw I was after him, that I had his right name. He 
then told me that his name was Wax Lee, and that 
that was his son whom we captured with him. 

When we reached San Saba with the prisoners 
we learned that Wax Lee and his son were wanted 
in Paris, Texas, and also in the Indian Territory. 
We wired the sheriff at Paris, telling him that we 
had his prisoners. The two men were charged 
with four murders and twenty thefts of horses and 
cattle. The sheriff at Paris gave us a hundred 
dollars for the capture. A big reward was out for 
the men in the Indian Territory, and we tried to 
get it, but some slick scoundrel beat us out of it. 



818 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

XLIX 

The Cowboys' Reunion 

Judge Glascow, of Seymour, notified me, while 
I was in Austin in 1897, that I was elected Marshal 
of the Day over the Cowboys' Reunion, which was 
to be held in his town on the 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th 
days of August. Later on Judge Glascow came to 
Austin, and I met him at the Avenue Hotel. I 
was then attending court, aiding in the trial of the 
famous Matt Ford and Tobe Bridge murder case, 
which was removed from San Saba to Austin. 

Judge Glascow asked me if I had received his 
letter, in which he had notified me that I was to 
be the Marshal of the Day at the Cowboys' Re- 
union in August. 

I told him that I had received the letter, and 
he asked me if I wasn't going to serve them. 

I told them that I would be proud to do so, but 
that I would have to see McDonald, my captain. 

" Where is Bill?" he asked. 

" There he is, just a few steps from you," I an- 
swered. 

Glascow walked up to McDonald and told him 
that a committee had elected me to act as Marshal 
of the Day over the Cowboys' Reunion at Sey- 
mour, and asked him if I could serve them. 

McDonald replied that I could not go, as I would 
have too much work to do then putting down the 
mob which was raging in San Saba County. 

"You are over Sullivan as captain," Glascow re- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 219 

plied, "but there are two men at the Capitol over 
you, and I shall go to see them." 

Glascow then walked up to the Capitol and was 
gone about a half hour. When he returned to the 
hotel, he tapped me on the shoulder and said, 
"Charley Culberson, the Governor of our State, 
and W. H. Mabry, the Adjutant General, both 
say that you shall act as marshal at the Cowboys 7 
Reunion." 

I left for Seymour in time to arrive there by the 
night of the 2nd of August, and the following 
morning I was sworn in as Marshal of the Day. 

Twenty thousand white people and five hundred 
Comanches were in Seymour for the reunion. 
Chief Quanah Parker had charge of the Coman- 
ches. I served them four days and nights as an 
officer and never jailed a single person. The whole 
town was turned loose to the cowboys and other 
visitors. There never was better behavior known 
in such a large crowd before. 

Thirty saloons were open day and night, and 
the cowboys drank some and had lots of fun, but 
they were as quiet as necessary and respected the 
law. On the night of the 5th the Indians gave a 
great war dance on the reunion grounds that was 
quite an interesting sight to witness. I had to 
arrest a man for cutting the rope that was stretched 
around the arena in which the Indians danced, but 
his wife and mother and two young ladies, who 
were with him, all plead so earnestly in his behalf 
that I didn't lock him up, but let him go free. 

Judge Glascow, ex-sheriff Sam Suttiemeyer of 
Baylor County, Quanah Parker and his favorite 



220 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

wife, and I had our photographs taken together. 
Quanah stole this squaw from another Comanche, 
and his men got mad and deserted him and he went 
to New Mexico, where they stayed several months. 
The Comanche, whose wife was stolen from him, 
finally wrote to the Chief and told him if he would 
give him eleven hundred dollars he could keep her 
and could come back and take charge of his tribe. 
Quanah at once paid the money, and again became 
the Chief of the Comanches. I found Quanah and 
his men to be easily controlled, and they gave me 
no trouble whatever. 

One night after the reunion had closed for the 
day, and while the people were on their way from 
the fair grounds to the city, about two thousand 
cowboys bunched up together and commenced fir- 
ing their sixshooters off in the air. The guns gleamed 
in the moonlight, and it looked like the world was 
full of lightning bugs. Quanah and several of his 
braves rushed up to me on their horses and asked 
me what the shooting meant. I told them that it 
was a lot of jolly cowboys having a little fun, but 
meaning no harm. Quanah and his Comanches 
were on the reunion grounds, and I told Quanah 
to call his men together and have them form them- 
selves in a circle. They did as I had requested, and 
all got as close together as possible, and I held them 
that way until the cowboys had passed and ceased 
their shooting. There was no danger of the cow- 
boys making any break at the Indians, but I 
thought I had better take that precaution. 

I witnessed during that reunion some of the 
finest roping and " broncho busting" that I ever 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 221 

saw in my life. I have often wished since then 
that I could witness another reunion like this, and 
be the marshal of the day, and have things move 
off as they did at Seymour. 



222 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 



Hidden Witnesses 

When I left the ranger service I accepted a 
deputyship under Sheriff Pearle of Williamson 
County. One day while court was in session at 
Georgetown, Judge D. S. Chesser told me that he 
had received a ' phone message form Corn Hill, say- 
ing that four suspicious characters were camping 
about ten miles from that place, and that some of- 
ficers should go out and investigate the party. The 
man who 'phoned Judge Chesser had been out bee 
hunting, and when he walked near the camp, one 
of the four men motioned him not to come near 
them by waving a towel at him. The hunter be- 
came suspicious and 'phoned Judge Chesser. As 
all the officers were busy, Judge Chesser asked me 
to go out with him to round up the men and find 
out what they were doing in that pasture. 

I told him that I would go with him, and we left 
a little after dark, reaching Corn Hill about eleven 
o'clock that night. A Mr. Johnson, the man who 
had sent for Judge Chesser, met us there, and, 
mounting his horse, went the rest of the way with 
us. 

About three miles from Corn Hill, Johnson said 
that he knew a man down in the corn field who 
was very good and brave, and that it would be a 
good idea to take him along, as the place where the 
men were camped was surrounded by brush, and 
that they could easily escape if we didn't take an- 
other man along to help us. Though it looked 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 223 

rather funny to me, I consented to his getting this 
man from the corn field, but our new assistant 
seemed very willing to join us, so I had no regrets 
about it. He carried a muzzle-loading shotgun, 
the lock, stock and barrel of which were all three 
whitewashed. 

Traveling a mile further on, we came to another 
house, and Johnson expressed the wish that we get 
the man who lived there to join us, so we pressed 
him in, too. 

About three miles further on we stopped and got 
breakfast. We had lots of fried chicken to eat, 
and we did full justice to the occasion, as we had 
ridden all night and were dreadfully hungry. 

Referring to the gentleman who was entertain- 
ing us, Judge Chesser, while at the breakfast table, 
spoke up and said: "We had better get this man 
to go along with us;" so I was now convinced that 
the Judge was in favor of plenty of company. The 
other two men promptly said that they thought it 
a good idea to get him to go along and help us, and 
I commenced wondering if all the men's feet were 
not getting cold. 

We pressed our kind friend into service and left 
immediately after breakfast, in order to arrive at 
the camp of the suspicious characters by daylight, 
so we could find them asleep. We were riding fast, 
and the morning star was rising and shining 
brighter all the time. 

Nearing our destination, we came to another 
house, where we found a man and his dogs in the 
cotton field, driving out a bunch of cattle that had 
broken into his field during the night. 

The man, his dogs, and his cows with their bells 



224 Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 

on, were kicking up such a terrible racket that 
Judge Chesser decided that we had better press 
this man into service also, but we had a hard time 
getting him to the fence. When he finally reached 
us, however, we told him that we wanted him to 
help us arrest a bunch of outlaws who were camped 
nearly a mile from his place. He took a chill at 
once and said he was sick. He told us, though, 
that he had a hired man sleeping out in the yard 
on a cot, and that he thought he would go with us. 
We woke the man up and told him what we 
wanted, and he said he' would go with us alright, 
and reaching under his pillow he pulled out a .22- 
calibre Smith & Wesson revolver. I asked him 
if that was the only gun he had, and he replied 
that it was. I handed him my .45 Colt's re- 
volver, and loaned my other one to the man 
with the whitewashed gun, leaving me with my 
Bill Cook Winchester, which was a plenty for me. 
I felt perfectly safe with my trusty Winchester, 
for I knew it had never gone back on me. 

Arriving within two hundred yards of the four 
men's camp, we dismounted and tied our horses. 
We walked up a little trail, which carried us about 
a hundred and fifty yards nearer the camp. Then 
we stopped and commenced a discussion as to 
what we should do next. The morning star shone 
still brighter and brighter. We decided to lie still 
until daybreak. We heard a rooster crow in the 
camp, and I remarked that they must be movers. 

Just as day was peeping upon us, I told them to 
keep still, and I would make a sneak of about 
thirty steps toward their camp. I gave them in- 
structions to come to me, one at a time, as soon as 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 225 

they saw me stop, and they did exactly as I had 
told them. I made another sneak, and they came 
to me again, as they had done before. That put 
us within ten or twelve steps of the camp. The 
chickens saw us, and not knowing what to make 
of us, they did some tall talking with each other, 
and I thought they would wake the men up be- 
fore they got through. One man did rise up, and, 
getting on his knees, he held his Winchester in his 
right hand and looked toward the west, but we had 
come from the east, and he failed to see us. I was 
in front of my men and could see this man when he 
got up, but they couldn't, as they were scattered 
out behind live oak bushes, and I never spoke to 
them about the man handling his Winchester. 

"It is about daylight, and we had better be get- 
ting up," said the man on the ground to the other 
men, but none of the sleepers responded to his call. 
In a few moments the man who had spoken these 
words, himself, lay down on his stomach, and 
pretty soon had gone off into "the sweet by and 
by." 

I motioned my men to follow me, and in another 
minute we had spread all over the camp. Two of 
the men were sleeping on the ground, and two in 
the wagon, but we captured all four of them with 
ease. 

We learned from them that they were witnesses 
in the Owens rape case, which was then being tried 
in Georgetown. When they told me that they 
were witnesses in that case, and that Col. Makem- 
son had them hidden out on the quiet, I asked 
Judge Chesser if they had any such names as these 
men gave as witnesses, and he replied that they 



226 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

did. I then turned them loose, and, knowing that 
they were caught up with, they went to town that 
day and reported at the courthouse. Col. Makem- 
son told me to let his witnesses alone after that. 



Twelve Years. in the Saddle. 227 

LI 
The Hanging of Morrison 

On the 25th of October, 1899, I was invited by 
Sheriff Williams of Wilbarger County to go to 
Vernon and help him hang a preacher, who was 
sentenced to be executed on the 27th of that 
month for the alleged murder of his wife, whom 
he had poisoned with strychnine. I accepted the 
invitation, and left at once for Vernon, arriving 
there on the morning of the 26th. The sheriff 
immediately put me on the death watch, and I 
remained on guard until eleven o'clock that night. 

The prisoner, Rev. G. E. Morrison, who was sen- 
tenced to be hung on the next day, was supposed 
to have murdered his wife at their home in Pan- 
handle City, and had been brought to Vernon for 
trial on a change of venue. Although given the 
death penalty, he denied his guilt to the last; but 
the evidence was conclusive, and proved beyond 
doubt that he had fallen in love with another 
woman, and had poisoned his wife to get rid of 
her. 

Though most people believed him to be guilty, 
there was a movement on foot to have Morrison's 
sentence commuted to a life term in the peniten- 
tiary. A few days before his execution, however, 
he and two of his fellow-prisoners attempted to 
escape by attacking Mr. Shies, the jailer, and try- 
ing to overpower him. While one of the prisoners 
had Shies "clinched," Morrison yelled to him to 
"kill the jailer." This news reached Governor 



228 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Sayers while Morrison's sister and two attorneys 
were kneeling at his feet, pleading with him to 
commute the prisoner's sentence to life imprison- 
ment in the penitentiary. There was a possibility 
of Governor Sayers' yielding to their prayer, but 
he determined upon the other course after he re- 
ceived the message from the sheriff and learned 
how ugly Morrison had acted. On the evening of 
the 26th the sheriff at Vernon received a telegram 
from the Governor saying that he must hang Mor- 
rison on the following day. 

Morrison listened to the sheriff, as the latter 
read to him the Governor's message, and replied 
that all had been done that was possible and that 
he guessed he would have to take it. 

The next morning his sister went to the jail and 
wept over him. Later on another lady and a 
preacher joined her, and the three knelt together 
in prayer. Morrison also prayed until time for 
the execution. At twelve o'clock he stood on the 
scaffold and made his farewell speech. A few 
minutes later his body dropped through the trap- 
door and his neck was broken. 

Morrison apparently took a fancy to me, and 
left me a pair of suspenders and a matchbox for 
keepsakes. He also wrote me a letter the night 
before his death, which I had requested him to do, 
as I wanted it for a souvenir. Following is the 
letter as he wrote it: 

"Vernon, Texas, Oct. 26, 1899. 
"Mr. Sullivan. 

"Dear Sir: You have asked me to write some- 
thing that you can keep to remember the occasion 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 229 

of our meeting. I don't know what to say to you, 
but I hope the following may be entirely satisfac- 
tory. 

" First, I believe in a future life, and I believe 
that men are punished for the sins of this life, and 
are rewarded for the good things. 

" Second, I believe in a general judgment, and 
all must stand in that day before the bar of God 
and be judged. I believe I have the witness of 
God's spirit bearing witness with my own spirit, 
and believe that, though God allows man's law to 
take my life yet he saves me, and of the future I 
have no fears whatever. 

"Now, good-bye, and may you ever be a cham- 
pion of the right and an enemy of the wrong. 
"Your well-wisher, 

"G. E. Morrison." 



230 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

LII 

A Prayer 

During the first part of the summer of 1901 I 
was riding the range of the LX and Turkey Track 
ranch, on the Canadian River, guarding that place 
against a band of cow thieves and horse thieves 
and outlaws who were terrorizing the citizens in 
that part of the State. On the 8th of July, things 
having quieted down considerably on the range, I 
went over to a small ranch which I owned further 
up the river, to take a little rest. 

During the afternoon of that day, while lying 
on the bed idly and quietly thinking over my past 
life, it suddenly came to my mind that in two more 
days I would be fifty years old, as the 10th of July 
would be the fiftieth anniversary of my birth. 

With that thought I fell into deeper meditation. 
I asked myself if I had accomplished anything 
good in life, or if I had ever bettered myself or had 
done anything to help mankind in general in my 
humble way. I smiled when I reflected that I had 
always been an honest, law-abiding citizen, so far 
as I knew how, and had ever tried to be a faithful 
officer ; but another thought came to my mind, and 
I smiled no more. It is true, I had always been 
careful to do my duty to my State and to society, 
but had I not been very negligent of my duty to 
God? 

Once, in 1872, while attending a religious meet- 
ing in the little town of Douglasville, Texas, I was 
profoundly impressed with the doctrines of Chris- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 231 

tianity, as they were earnestly expounded by the 
able minister of that place. I did not feel, how- 
ever, that I had been converted, and was leaving 
the church at the close of the services with no idea 
of becoming religious, when some of the preachers 
and a young lady, who was then Miss Cora Howe, 
stopped me and asked me to go up and give my 
life to God. I told them that I had not been con- 
verted ; that I had not received God's grace. They 
talked to me a long time about my soul, and 
slapped me on the back so hard that I thought 
they were trying to beat religion into me. They 
finally left me and went their way, and I went 
mine. 

I still thought that I had not been converted, but 
a night or two after that, while riding back home 
after the close of one of the meetings which I had 
attended, and while deeply meditating on religious 
subjects, a happy feeling came over me that I can- 
not describe. Some young people were riding just 
in front of me, whose gayety and laughter did not 
harmonize with the mood that had suddenly taken 
possession of my mind; so I held my horse back 
until the distance was so increased between them 
and me that I was left alone with God. 

Not in a church building, with men and women 
all around watching me, but there in that lonely 
spot, surrounded by Nature, and with God my 
only witness, I beheld, even through the darkness 
of the night, a great light, and I reached out in an 
effort to grasp that brilliant, dazzling thing. I 
don't suppose I could have reached it myself, but 
because I tried so hard to get the light it came to 
me, flooding my mind with spiritual understand- 



232 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

ing, and I gave my heart to my Maker. The rest 
of the story I do not like to confess. I lived as a 
good Christian would for three years ; and, then, as 
lots of men do, I began to be careless, and gradu- 
ally grew more and more negligent of my duty to 
God, and for twenty-five years I left Him almost 
entirely out of my life and consideration. In other 
respects I had performed my duty and built up a 
good character, but I had not given God His due; 
and, as I lay on the bed on this July afternoon in 
1901, these thoughts troubled my mind and 
pricked my conscience. I resolved that in two 
more days, on the fiftieth anniversary of my birth, 
I would again give my heart to God. In 1872 I 
I had seen the light in the darkness ; this time I be- 
held and recognized it in its peculiar beauty, even 
while the sun was pouring out his own rays of 
brilliancy all around me. I resolved to give God 
my heart on the 10th of July; and I had a good ex- 
cuse for putting it off two days, for I desired, for 
sentimental reasons, to commence living right 
again exactly on the day of my fiftieth anniver- 
sary. It is not wise to unnecessarily put things 
off, and, in this instance procrastination proved to 
be as great a thief as ever. 

On the 10th, the day I was to have reformed and 
to have given my life to God, I happened to be very 
busy, and failed to comply with the vow I had sol- 
emnly made on the 8th, and it was not long before 
I had good reason to regret it; for on the 12th, two 
days afterward, I met with an accident that came 
near costing me my life. I spent the day and night 
of the 11th in Dumas, the nearest town, where I 
had gone for my mail. On the following day, the 



Twelve Yeaks in the Saddle. 233 

12th, I went back to the ranch, and in some manner 
accidently shot myself through the leg, and came 
near bleeding to death before assistance reached 
me. While crawling on the ground, with blood 
spurting from an ugly wound, I thought of the 
resolution I had made four days before to lead a 
different life. 

u Is this God's manner of punishing me for my 
negligence? " I asked myself; but I did not believe 
it was, and dismissed the thought from my mind. 
I feared, however, that my time had come, and I 
dreaded to think that I was to die by my own 
hand. In my helplessness I looked up to God 
and prayed to Him, with all the earnestness of 
my heart: 

u 0, God, I know I do not deserve to live, but, 
Merciful Father, grant me a few more years on 
this earth, so that I can serve you the rest of the 
days of my life. If, however, it is Your will that 
I die now, I shall accept my fate with resignation 
and calmness, realizing that Thou art the All-wise 
God and know best what to do with me." 

God spared my life, and ever since then I have 
tried to live as I thought He would have me to do. 



234 Twelve Years isr the Saddle. 

LIII 

I Shoot Myself 

During the twelve years that I served the people 
of Texas as a State ranger I was exposed to hun- 
dreds of bullets and other dangers, but never re- 
ceived a serious injury until I shot myself, while 
guarding the LX and Turkey Track ranch in the 
summer of 1901, which fact I mentioned in the 
preceding chapter. After coming out of so many 
tight places unharmed, it seems remarkable to me 
that it should be left to my own hand to inflict the 
wound that crippled me for life. 

I returned on the 12th day of July to my ranch, 
after spending the previous day and night in Du- 
mas, and while passing through the pasture on my 
way to my ranch, my attention was attracted by 
the barking of a dog, the bawling of the cows, and 
the bleating of calves. A certain dog in the neigh- 
borhood had a habit of chasing the cattle away 
from the water, and, knowing this, I soon guessed 
the cause of the confusion and decided to kill the 
troublesome little canine. When the dog saw me, 
however, he ran away, going as fast as he could up 
the hill, with me close behind. I shot at him three 
times before he reached the top of a hill , and cocked 
my gun to have it ready for the fourth shot. Still 
after the dog, I was running my horse down the 
other side of a steep hill, when my saddle, which 
had been too loosely girted, slipped from the ani- 
mal's back down to his neck. My horse, being a 
little wild, become frightened at this occurrence 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 235 

and commenced to jump and pitch considerably. 
I was still in the saddle, and while trying to control 
the horse I accidentally pulled the trigger of my 
sixshooter, which, as I have stated before, was 
cocked. That was an unlucky moment for me 
when I touched that trigger and discharged that 
gun, and the next few hours meant horrible pain 
and suffering, while the following days and weeks 
were but little better. 

The bullet passed through my thigh, breaking 
the bone, and causing the blood to flow freely from 
the wound. I fell from the saddle to the ground 
and saw my horse turn and run up the hill. When 
I discovered that I had broken my leg, I pulled my 
boot off and began crawling, dragging the boot 
along with me. My boots were of extra fine qual- 
ity, and I did not want to lose them ; so after going 
about seventy-five yards I hid the boot in a place 
where I could easily find it afterwards. 

Owing to the nature of the wound, I had to 
crawl backwards. A few moments after hiding 
the boot I fainted, and when I regained conscious- 
ness my fever was so high and my mouth was so 
parched with thirst that I crawled to a nearby 
creek. 

The nearest house was two miles away, and, in 
trying to reach it, I crawled down this little stream. 
In quenching my awful thirst, I drank so much wa- 
ter that it cramped me. After four hours in the 
creek I took to the land, and tried to shorten my 
journey by crawling through the pasture. Some 
distance away from the creek I came upon a bunch 
of cattle. My leg was still bleeding, and the cat- 
tle, scenting the blood, came to me; I wished that 



236 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

they had been human beings. They did not know 
what to make of me, crawling along in such a 
strange manner, and becoming excited they walked 
around and around me in a circle, gazing at me all 
the while. Suddenly a big Durham bull, with 
sharp horns, advanced near me, and looked as if 
he was going to tear me up. About five steps 
from me he stopped and shook his head, pawed 
the earth and bellowed. I wished then that I had 
not lost my sixshooter when I fell from my horse 
a few hours before. I also remembered my Bill 
Cook Winchester, and thought about how quickly 
I would shoot this bull if I had it with me. As it 
was, I was defenseless, and expected every moment 
that the next would be my last. I could do noth- 
ing but talk to the beast, and I appealed to his 
principle, honor and mercy, and implored him not 
to attack me while I was so helpless. My prayer 
did not at first appear to have any effect on his 
mind and heart. While thus imploring the bull 
to go his way, I suddenly discovered that I had 
come upon a huge rattlesnake in his coil. I was 
within two feet of him when he began to use his 
rattles. I was satisfied from his movements that 
my time to die had at last arrived, and I felt rather 
creepish; but I managed to evade the snake by 
crawling around him, and thus ended my troubles 
of this nature. 

The bull and the snake gone, I resumed my 
slow and painful journey. I had to travel by 
throwing my body backward with my good leg. 
At sundown I reached a barbed wire fence, and was 
almost famished for water, after my tedious crawl 
of an hour and a half across the pasture. Ex- 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 237 

hausted from loss of blood, I leaned my head 
against a post to rest. I soon became drowsy, 
however, and immediately roused myself to ac- 
tion; for I realized that to fall asleep then would 
mean death, as my leg continued to bleed and I 
was getting weaker all the while. Suddenly I 
heard the voice of a boy, and knew that someone 
was around. I was satisfied that it was Ray Ben- 
nett, the little son of the owner of the ranch, look- 
ing for his cows. I called out to him, but the wind 
was blowing toward me from his direction and I 
could not make him hear. The noise that the lad 
made while riding in that part of the pasture 
gradually died away, and I knew that he was gone. 
The hope that had suddenly leaped into my heart 
also departed, and left me in despair. 

I was still suffering for water. I knew that 
there was an irrigation ditch about thirty yards 
on the other side of the fence, but getting to it was 
the problem. The fence was too low on the 
ground for me to crawl under, and climbing over 
it was, of course, out of the question. I thought 
of a place, however, about twenty yards further 
down, where the wind had blown the sand from 
under the fence and left a hole large enough for me 
to crawl under. I immediately made my way to 
that place and crawled through the hole. When 
I had got within fifteen yards of the ditch I looked 
up and saw the same little boy whom I had heard 
a short time before. I called him to me and asked 
him to bring me my hat full of water from the 
ditch. He not only brought mine but his own 
full, and I drank all the water that my hat would 
hold. The boy then summoned his father, who 



238 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

brought me stimulants and carried me in a wagon 
to his house. This part of the trip was easy for 
me, as Mr. Bennett had thoughtfully put a mat- 
tress and some quilts in the wagon, so I could rest 
more comfortably. 

I asked Mr. Bennett to send me to my ranch, 
six miles away, but he would not think of it, say- 
ing that it was too far and that the trip would 
make against me. He sent for his wife, who hap- 
pened to be at the creek fishing, and they went to 
lots of trouble and did everything possible to help 
me. My wound had swollen so that my clothing 
had to be cut off the injured leg. A fire was quickly 
made and a pot of coffee put on for me. Not 
wanting to occupy one of their best beds in my 
condition, I asked them to make a bed on the 
floor and let me lie there ; but they would do noth- 
ing of the sort, and placed me in the best bed they 
had. I complained that I was too much trouble, 
but they assured me that I was, not, and acted as 
if it were but a pleasure for them to do for me. 
Their manner and cordiality cheered me up, and 
made me feel at home. Such is rural hospitality 
and kindliness. 

Mr. Bennett's oldest son, Charley, went to a 
line camp nearby and got Charley Smith, who 
lived there, to go thirty miles from the camp to a 
'phone to summon Dr. Pearson at Amarillo, which 
place was twenty-five miles still further on. Dr. 
Pearson left Amarillo at two o'clock and reached 
me the next morning at eleven — about twenty- 
three hours after my accident. My leg was so 
badly swollen by that time that the doctor could 
do nothing but await developments. 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 239 

I stayed at Mr. Bennett's six days and was 
treated royally. I shall never forget the kindness 
of that family. On Wednesday I was started in 
an ambulance to Amarillo, where I was to have 
my leg set. I was accompanied on my trip by five 
men, who carefully attended to my wants. A 
dozen men wanted to go with me, but I told them 
that five would be enough. When we reached our 
destination — the next day at noon — my friends in 
Amarillo met me and rendered me what assistance 
and comfort they could. 

My leg had been broken so long that it could not 
be set straight. One end of the bone overlapped 
the other about three inches, which made a diffi- 
cult operation for the surgeons. 

I had to stay in Amarillo three months, but the 
kind ministrations of friends seemed to shorten the 
time and ameliorate my suffering. My experience 
was terrible, but while undergoing it, I was forci- 
bly reminded of the fact that there are many peo- 
ple in the world who have real humanity in their 
hearts, and who possess much tender sympathy 
for those about them who fall victims to trouble 
and misfortune. 

I was tendered financial assistance by the presi- 
dents of two banks of Amarillo, Messrs. W. H. 
Fuqua and Tol Ware, but, luckily, I did not need 
this assistance. 



240 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

LIV 

A Call for Protection 

In 1891 I was ranching in Moore County, on the 
Canadian River. During that year I went to Dal- 
hart, Dallam County, to visit some friends who 
had settled there. To get to Dalhart I had to go 
to Amarillo, which town was sixty miles from my 
ranch, and take the train there for Dalhart. 

Dalhart was then a new town on the Rock Is- 
land, where that road intersects the Fort Worth 
& Denver. It was strictly a railroad town, and 
was located thirty-five miles south of Texline, the 
county seat. The town and county were supposed 
to be "prohibition," but two saloons and several 
gambling houses were running "wide open" in di- 
rect violation of the law. 

These saloons were called "Tom Black" and 
"The Beckett," being named after their respective 
owners. The sheriff, who lived at Texline, had 
three deputies in Dalhart, but they were unable 
to put a stop to these violations of the law, and 
could not preserve peace and order. When I 
reached Dalhart things were in a bad shape, and 
a reign of terror existed. The town was filled 
with lawless people. Gambling was going on 
night and day, and drunkards were always to be 
seen staggering along the streets. A lady was not 
safe outside of her house. One lady was robbed 
in open daylight, and others were insulted by some 
of the low characters who daily emerged from the 
saloons, soaked with whiskey. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 241 

While I was there on a visit, numbers of rob- 
beries occurred every night. The better element 
of the town were out-numbered by these outlaws, 
and were bluffed and scared by them. The law- 
lessness that reigned in Dalhart was becoming no- 
torious, and the growth and the prosperity of the 
town was threatened. The people who were 
deeply concerned in the moral and material in- 
terests of the town realized that something had to 
be done with the outlaws and thugs who infested 
the city, and a committee of the best citizens of 
that place asked me to move to Dalhart and serve 
them as a peace officer. Justice of the Peace R. 
P. Edgel; Col. Oaks, the banker; Chapman, the 
real estate man, and Sheriff Morris and Col. Al 
Boyce were among those who asked me to help 
them break up the gang of outlaws who ruled their 
town. They offered me a hundred dollars a month 
for my services. I told them that it was a hard 
proposition to think about, as it was a bad bunch 
I would have to deal with, but I asked them for 
ten days time to think over their offer. They gave 
me the time I asked for, so I left at once for my 
ranch to attend to other business, and to think 
over their proposition. 

Before the time limit expired, I decided to go to 
Dalhart and help the people out; so I got on my 
horse and rode across the country, it being sixty- 
five miles away, and reached Dalhart late in the 
evening. The sheriff met me, and I told him to 
"swear me in," which he did the next morning. 

I knew that I would have to go about my busi- 
ness in a determined manner. I also realized that 
unless I was careful I would have lots of trouble 



242 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

on my hands. I went to work at once and billed 
twenty-seven cases against Tom Black for selling 
whiskey in a prohibition town and county, and 
eighteen cases against Beckett for the same offense. 
I also billed cases against Beckett's bartender and 
Tom Black's three bartenders. Black then em- 
ployed a lawyer, a Mr. Smith of New Mexico, to 
represent him. Smith went to Sheriff Morris and 
told him that Black said that he would give him 
(Morris) fifty dollars if he would discharge me. 
Smith then remarked that Black could get along 
all right with the sheriff, but he could not stand me, 
and again asked Morris if he would not discharge 
me for that fifty dollars. The sheriff told him by 
no means would he "fire" me; that I was the only 
man he had ever had who did not stand in with 
the tough element. The sheriff told me later on 
about the proposition that the lawyer had made 
to him, but told me not to mention it, and I prom- 
ised him I would not. When I met Black after- 
ward, however, I was sorry I had made the prom- 
ise, for I saw I had to break it. Black was coming 
down the street, and I called to him and rode into 
an alley to meet him. 

I asked him if he had promised the sheriff fifty 
dollars if he would discharge me, and he answered 
that he had. I then asked him what his grievance 
was against me. He asked me if I did not summon 
the jury that indicted him in twenty-seven cases 
for selling whiskey. Of course I did not have any- 
thing to do with summoning the grand jury, and 
Black ought to have known better than to ask 
such a question. I told him that I summoned 



Twelve Years in.the Saddle. 243 

everyone of them, and asked him how he liked the 
men. 

He said that they were the liars and damn thieves 
of the country, and I told him that he was one of 
those jump-backs himself. 

At that time I was pulling off my gloves — I was 
not going to shoot Black; I was going to " throw 
down" on him, and make him listen to what I in- 
tended to say. Black thought that I was prepar- 
ing to shoot him, as I afterward learned, so he 
made a spring and caught me around the waist 
pinioning my arms to my side. After scuffling for 
quite a while, I finally succeeded in getting my 
arm loose from his, and reached down and clutched 
his throat. I touched "White Man," my horse, 
with my left spur, and made him lean over toward 
Black. Black was jerking me all the time, and I 
still held to his throat. He finally twisted around 
until he got next to a porch, however, which gave 
him more power than I had while on my horse. 
My sixshooter had been working loosely on my 
belt, and his jerking me made it slip around in 
front of me. He suddenly loosened his hold on 
one side with his right hand and jerked my pistol 
from the scabbard. Black was a giant in size, 
weighing 225 pounds and measuring six feet and 
four inches in height. 

I wondered for an instant what he was going to 
do with my sixshooter, but I soon saw; for after 
getting my gun he broke away from me and made 
a long run to his saloon, carrying the weapon with 
him. $ 

My Winchester was at the butcher shop on the 
opposite side of the street from where the struggle 



244 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

went on, and while Black was running to his sa- 
loon I popped my spurs to my horse, and he 
reached the butcher shop in about three jumps. 
I called to Bob Troup to hand me my Winchester, 
which he did. I knew there were no cartridges in 
it, as I had taken all of them out for fear some 
thoughtless person would throw the lever and put 
a cartridge in the barrel, and not knowing how to 
get it out, and would let it go off and kill someone 
out in the street. I asked Troup then to hand me 
my belt, and, as he did so, I pulled two cartridges 
from it and loaded my rifle. 

I was just whirling my house around to fire at 
Black, who was then entering the rear of his sa- 
loon, when I saw his half brother running toward 
me with my sixshooter. I stopped and waited for 
him, and when he got to me he said that Tom had 
sent my gun back to me. I told him to tell Tom 
that I had no intention of killing him, and that if 
he would behave himself I would never have to 
hurt him. 

That night I watched Black's saloon, it being 
full of gamblers, robbers and thugs. While watch- 
ing the saloon from the outside, I saw two men 
walk in and come out in a few minutes. I ar- 
rested them, and, searching them, I found on the 
person of each man a quart of whiskey. I escorted 
the two men to the office of the justice of the peace 
and sent for the justice. When he arrived at his 
office I made the two men swear under oath where 
they bought the whiskey, how much the}^ paid for 
it, and from whom they purchased it. I then got 
two warrants out for Black, and getting Sheriff 
Morris to join me I went back to arrest him. Black 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 245 

learned that we were after him, however, and left 
the saloon and tried to make his escape. Several 
officers joined in the hunt, and we pursued him 
vigorously. 

Sheriff Morris and Officer Logan went northeast 
down the Rock Island track to the depot, while 
Bill Garrett and I went northwest. 

Pretty soon I saw a man running on the outer 
edge of the town, and saw him stop suddenly and 
lie down. I said to Bill Garrett, 'That is Black. " 
As we started after him, he got up and ran to a 
small building nearby. 

When I had gotten within twenty-five yards of 
the house, and was facing the door, Black called 
out and asked if I was Sullivan. 

I told him, "Yes." 

Then he asked me if it was the sheriff with me. 

I told him, "No;" that it was Bill Garrett. Then 
I told him to come out of the house and surrender. 

He said: "Sullivan, I will surrender, but do not 
shoot me nor hurt me." 

I replied that I would not hurt a hair on his head 
for the world if he did not make a play ; "but if you 
do make a bad break," I added, "I will cut you off 
at your pockets." 

He gave up quietly, and I took him to the office 
of the justice of the peace, where I could get a 
light and read the warrant to him. I shackled 
him then, and carried him on the next train to 
Texline, where he was lodged in the county jail. 
He remained there nine days and nights before he 
gave bond and was released. I met him soon after 
he gained his freedom, and had a long talk with 
him. He told me that he dreaded to be arrested 



246 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

by me that night, on account of the fight which 
we had engaged in the day before his arrest. 
Black wound up his side of the conversation by 
saying, " Sullivan, after what has happened be- 
tween us, I shall always give you credit for being 
an honest officer. My respect for you has caused 
me to resolve to hereafter lead a different life. I 
know that I have been violating the law, but I 
will quit now, and I would like for you to knock 
out all the indictments which you have secured 
against me, and I will take oath that I will never 
sell another drop of whiskey in the State of Texas. " 

I saw the sheriff and district attorney and beg- 
ged them to let him take the oath. I expected 
them to do so, but they did not agree with me, and 
persisted in prosecuting him. Black lived in Dal- 
hart for quite awhile after I left there, and was as- 
sassinated by someone who shot him from across 
the street. The next sheriff — Jno. Webb — and his 
son were alleged to have committed the deed, and 
were tried, but acquitted. No one knew for cer- 
tain who did the snooting. 

Beckett and his bartender took the oath that 
Black wanted to take and went to Montana, and 
I never heard from them again. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 247 



LV 

Unknown Victim Falls in a Gun Fight at 
Dalhart 

"December 22, 1901. 
"To Officer, 

"Dalhart, Texas: 

"Arrest and hold one Tom Mayers for murder, 
as he has no examination, and notify sheriff at 
Beaver City, 0. T. Thomas Mayers and Al Zim- 
merman left last night to get their money. You 
can find them at the Rock Island office in the 
morning at Dalhart. Both of these men are about 
twenty-eight years of age and they wear a beard 
of three weeks growth. Five feet five inches tall. 
Both wearing caps. Zimmerman accessory to 
murder. 

"G. O. Neal, 

"Section Boss." 

While in Dalhart I received the above telegram 
from Mr. Neal, who was working on the railroad 
about forty miles out of the city. The message 
was handed to me while I was talking to some rail- 
road officials in the depot. I immediately wired 
Sheriff Morris to come down to Dalhart in the 
morning, telling him I wanted to see him on busi- 
ness. 

Fearing that the sheriff was not in Texline and 
could not come down to help me, I deputized a 
Mr. McCormack to assist me in the case. I told 
the sheriff and McCormack, both, to come to a cer- 
tain house before daylight. 



24:8 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Both men arrived at the house the next morn- 
ing, on time, as I had requested, and I told them 
that we would go down to the depot before day- 
break, so we would not be seen. I did not want 
anybody to know that anything was wrong. After 
reaching the depot, we went upstairs into the cash- 
ier's office and concealed ourselves. 

When the cashier arrived at his office we told 
him what we were up there for, and I gave him the 
names of the two men who were to come for their 
money. "When they present their cards/' I told 
him, "I want you to notify me." 

He assured me that he would, and we lay still 
and waited for Mayers and his partner to show up. 

About nine o'clock the sheriff went down stairs 
and stayed aw^ay quite awhile. When he returned 
I told him that he ought to stay with us, as the 
men might discover him hanging around the de- 
pot, and think something was "up" and not come 
in. The sheriff stayed with me then until eleven 
thirty o'clock and left me again. I suppose he 
grew impatient and thought the men were not 
coming. 

Soon after the sheriff left, the cashier came to 
me and informed me that my men were at the 
window. Motioning McCormack to follow me/ I 
opened the door that led into the hallway. I no- 
ticed that there were eight or nine men in the chute 
that led to the cashier's window. Every time a 
man looked in my direction I motioned him to 
come out. 

In that manner I finally got everybody out, ex- 
cept the two men who were next to the window, 
and I wanted them to stay where they were. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 249 

They were watching the cashier and did not look 
around until I took the man nearest me by sur- 
prise and ordered him to hold his hands up. Hear- 
ing my command he whirled around quickly on his 
heels, and, as he did so, I twice again said, "hands 
up." When he saw McCormack and me with our 
pistols pointing at him, he ran his right hand down 
into his vest on the left side, and, as he did that, I 
fired, and so did McCormack. We shot at him, 
and the firing of our pistols created such a dense 
smoke in the little chute that we could not tell 
whether the man had a gun or not, and when we 
saw he was advancing toward us, we fired again, 
hitting him twice in the breast. Mayers was in 
front of him, and Zimmerman happened to be out 
in the hall, but I didn't know it then, and thought 
that the man who ran his hand down into his vest 
and advanced on us was one of them, arid Mc- 
Cormack and I, both, fired at him. McCormack 
shot three times and I fired four times. 

After being mortally shot, the victim of our guns 
ran out of the chute into the hallway, where he soon 
died from his wounds. 

Mayers and Zimmerman both emptied their 
pistols at me, but only succeeded in hitting the 
man who had already received his fatal wounds. 
They shot him in the left ear, in the back, and in 
the right side. A shot struck Mayers in the chin, 
cutting the underpart of it off. The top of his 
sleeve was also torn by a stray bullet from Zim- 
merman's gun. 

Before the fight was over, the smoke had become 
so dense in the chute and hallway that we had 
great difficulty in recognizing each other. Dur- 



250 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

ing the, confusion McCormack got on the other 
side of the room and came near shooting me, while 
firing at the man. 

The man who was killed fell with both feet prop- 
ped against the facing of the door that led into the 
cashier's room. I went to him when the smoke 
cleared away, and found at his left side a .44 cart- 
ridge and at his right side a .41 Colt's cartridge 
that had been snapped, the cap having gone two- 
thirds of the way in. His pistol had failed to 
shoot, and the smoke caused me not to see it. I 
looked around for his gun, but not finding it, I was 
satisfied that whoever pulled the dead man out of 
the door had taken it. 

I stepped back to McCormack and told him that 
we had better knock the empties out and reload 
our guns as we had one more man to catch. When 
I learned that the wrong man had been killed, how T - 
ever, I knew that we had both the murderers to cap- 
ture, and McCormack and I soon got busy. 

Zimmerman and Mayers were running around 
in a cluster of excited men, but we picked them 
out, and gave chase to Zimmerman, leaving May- 
ers behind. The sheriff came up about that time, 
and I secured a horse for him and sent him after 
Zimmerman, who was trying very hard to make 
his escape. Then I summoned seventy-five men 
to help me search for Mayers, who I thought was 
hiding behind one of the numerous piles of cul- 
verts, ties and rails that were stacked in different 
places up and down the tracks. 

Zimmerman was soon caught by the sheriff and 
brought back to me. A lady saw Zimmerman 
and Mayers drop two sixshooters in a barrel, and 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 251 

she got the weapons and sent them to me a little 
while after they were captured. 

Mayers was found, after a three hours search, in 
a restaurant, bleeding to death from the wound on 
his chin, which he had received during the fight. 
I took him to a doctor and had him treated. Then 
I wired the sheriff at Beaver City, Oklahoma, that 
I had his men. He came at once and got them. 

An inquest was held over the body of the man 
whom we had killed, and we were exonerated. 
The grand jury met in June, and they also de- 
clared that I was not guilty of murder. They 
were of the opinion that if the man had not been 
a fugitive from justice, he would not have tried to 
pull a gun on me. They further declared that I 
did what any other officer should have done under 
the same circumstances. 



APPENDIX. 



A Last Farewell. 
Composed and Written by Dora Brown, October 13, 1902. 

Just one year ago today, love, 

We said our last good-bye; 
We parted in a quarrel — 

You know the reason why. 
But that is all forgiven, 

And I dreamed it o'er and o'er; 
Little did we think when parting, 

That we'd meet again no more. 

Yes, it is all forgiven, 

A thousand times and more. 
Oh, could it once more happen, 

To be forgiven o'er. 
But it seems that our paths have parted, 

That the hope we have cherished must die — 
Your looks and actions are remembered, 

Even your saying good-bye. 

The world is full of pleasures, 

But few if any I see, 
Since the one I loved so dearly 

Is taken away from me. 
My prayers are for a brighter day, 

When we may prove our love, 
But if we meet no more on earth, 

I hope we'll meet above. 



254 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Yes, I had rather share your grief 

Than other people's glee. 
While you are nothing to the world, 

You are all the world to me. 
I once saw sunshine in your smiles, 

Heard music in your tone; 
I oft recall your words of love 

When I am all alone. 

Once you were my betrothed, 

Noble, brave and true; 
The love that gleamed in your brown eyes 

Was as gentle as the dew. 
As fearless as our patriots, 

Who have braved the storms of sea, 
You have roamed the West all over 

With a heart that beat for me. 

Then you were a gay cowboy, 

Your life was happy and free; 
There was nothing then to blight your joys, 

And pleasure was in store for me. 
We vowed to wed and never part, 

The wedding day was set ; 
On Christmas night with hand and heart 

Our vows we'd plight, to ne'er regret. 

But cruel fate has on us frowned, 

My prayers were all in vain; 
My darling in the sentence found 

Seven long years to remain. 
At Fowler in a convict camp 

My loved one toils each day, 
While one at home with bleeding heart 

For him dost watch and pray. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 255 

The saloon at Dalhart caused this war; 

The man was not to blame. 
For in this business we all know, 

Many men are brought to shame. 
Don't let this hurt your feelings, love, 

And blame me not, my own dear Ed; 
For all will be forgotten here 

When we are numbered with the dead. 

My motto is, I will be true, 

My vows will never change; 
I love none half so well as you, 

As long as life remains. 
No other love my heart can wake, 

No matter where I rove, 
The promise I shall never break — 

I am going to prove true to the one I love. 

This July 12, 1908. 

I knew this lady well. She used to live in Hutchinson 
county, Texas. She composed this poem for Ed while living 
in Channing, Texas, and sent it to him while he was in the 
penitentiary. W. J. L. Sullivan. 



Texas Bangers after the Mob. 

Governor Culberson, from among the rest, 

Chose four Bangers, whom he thought best. 

He ordered us to San Saba to put down crime — 

We met in Goldthwaite, all on time. 

Two from the Panhandle, two from the Bio Grande, 

Which made a jolly little Banger band. 



256 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

We stopped at a hotel to stay all night. 

From what the people said, we expected a fight. 

They puffed and blowed, and said we were in danger. 

For a bushwhacker didn't like a Eanger. 

We laughed at such talk, and considered it fun; 

But wherever we went, we carried our gun. 

We had a sixshooter, a Winchester, too, 

That would shoot a buffalo through and through. 

Next morning at early dawn, 

We were off to San Saba, "as sure as you're born." 

In a wagon, with sheet and bows, 

How we stood it, the good Lord knows. 

The roads were rough as rough could be — 
Why it did not kill us, I cannot see. 
Over mountains and hills, through the dust, 
Over rocks, till I thought die I must. 
We stopped in San Saba all that night, 
Still expecting a hard little fight. 

We rose next morning, gathered up our tricks, 

Our camping outfit we began to fix. 

We got a pair of mules, and a wagon, too — 

Cooking utensils, and something to chew. 

We wanted a cook, for we expected to be slain, 

So the job was given to Buck Chamberlain. 

We stopped in town a day or two. 

Met some of the girls, as pretty as ever we knew. 

Then to the Colorado Eiver we soon did go. 

When to return we did not know. 

The sheriff went along to pilot us through. 

He knew the country — Buck did, too. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 257 

We stopped at noon: got something to eat. 

For economy, Buck was hard to beat. 

He got on the wagon, taking a chew, 

And said, "Come on, boys; better go through." 

He drove into the creek his lines all slack, 

Stalled his mules, and then looked back. 

Sullivan, Barker and Edgar Neal, 

All jumped oft' and grabbed a wheel. 

Maddox jumped off and grabbed one, too. 

Buck hit old Jack, and yelled, "Get up, Sue !" 

We made it to the Eiver, and pitched our tent ; 

To have a mess of fish we were all bent. 

Still we were hearing a lot of the mob, 

But we felt as though we were onto our job. 

We rode over the country, went where we pleased, 

But kept our eyes on all the big trees. 

So we sent to Sheriff Bell, for a good watch-dog, 

It would tickle you to death to see him catch a hog. 

He caught by the tail, dropped down behind — 
They went over that hill simply flying. 
Here are the Texas Bangers, I know it is a hard life ; 
You had better find a girl and ask her to be your wife. 
Now, if you trust in God, He will carry you through. 
So good-bye, Banger boys, Fll bid you adieu. 

Composed by Allen Maddox, Co. D., Bio Grande; W. J. L. 
Sullivan, Sergt. Co. B., Panhandle. 
January 11, 1897. 



258 Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 

The Cowboy's Hymn. 

When 1 think of the last great round-up 
On the eve of eternity's dawn, 

I think of the host of the cowboys 

That have been with us here and have gone. 

I think of those big-hearted fellows, 

Who'll divide with you blanket and bread, 

With a piece of stray beef well roasted, 
And charge for it never a red. 

I wonder if any will greet me 

On the sands of that evergreen shore, 

With a hearty God bless you, old fellow, 
That you've met with so often before. 

And I often look upward and wonder 

If the green fields will seem half so fair 

If any the wrong trail have taken 
And fail to be over there. 

The trail that leads down to perdition 
Is paved all the way with good deeds, 

But in the great round-up of ages, 

Dear boys, this won't answer your needs. 

The trail to green pastures, tho' narrow, 
Leads straight to the home in the sky, 

And Jesus will give you your passport 
To the land in the sweet by and by. 

Jesus has taken the contract 

To deliver all those who believe, 

At the headquarters ranch of the Father, 
In the great range where none can deceive. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 259 

The inspector will stand at the gateway 
Where the herd, one and all, must go by, 

And the round-up by the angels in judgment 
Must pass 'neath his all-searching eye. 

No maverick nor slicks will be tallied 
In that great book of life in His home, 

For He knows all the brands and the ear-marks 
That down thro' all ages have come. 

But along with the strays and the sleepers 
The tailings must turn from the gate, 

No road brand to give them admission, 
But that awful sad cry, "Too late !" 

But I trust in that last great round-up, 
When the rider shall cut the big herd, 

That the cowboy will be represented 

In the ear-mark and brand of the Lord. 

To be shipped to that bright, mystic region 

Over there in green pastures to lie, 
And lead by the crystal still waters 

To the home in the sweet by and by. 

Charlie Eoberts. 



Huntsville Graveyard. 

There's an upland field near the Huntsville stream, 

Where the grass grows rank and tall. 
A place of dread to cherished hearts 

When the evening shadows fall. 
The laugh is hushed, the voice grows mute, 

It is passed with a quickened tread — 
That little spot on God's green earth 

Where lies the convict dead. 



260 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

How many lives that have promised fair 

In boyhood's early prime 
Have found their resting place up there, 

That's marked with, those of crime? 
God grant that in their former days 

They have done some deeds of love 
That will balance all their erring ways 

In the book of life above. 

There's many a boy that has gone astray, 

Yes, many a mother's pride, 
And among the dead are laid away 

On Huntsville's green hillside. 
They perhaps are listening for his steps 

That in death are forever still, 
And watching for the form that lies 

In Huntsville's graveyard hill. 

Composed by A. E. Hillin, Clayton, New Mexico, July 12, 
1908. 

I, W. J. Sullivan, caught this man in Dalhart while 
stationed there holding down crime. 



Song Ballad op the Dying Eanger. 

The sun was sinking in the west, 

And fell with a lingering ray 
Through the branches of the forest 

Where the dying Eanger lay. 
Beneath the shade of a palmetto, 

And the silvery sunset sky, 
Far away from his home in Texas, 

We laid him down to die 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 261 

A group that gathered around him, 

His comrades in the fight, 
The tears rolled down each manly cheek 

As they bid him a last good-night. 
One friend, a loved companion, 

Was kneeling by his side, 
Striving to quench the life-blood flow, 

But alas, in vain he tried. 

His heart was filled with anguish, 

When he found it all in vain, 
As over each loved companion's cheeks 

The tears rolled down like rain. 
TJp spoke the dying Hanger, 

Saying, "Weep no more for me; 
I am crossing over the river, 

Where all beyond is free. 

"Come, gather close around me, 

And listen to what I say; 
I am going to tell a story 

While my spirit hastes away. 
Ear away in loved old Texas, 

That good old Lone Star State, 
There is one that will wait my coming, 

With a weary heart she will wait. 

"A fair young girl, my sister, 

My only hope and pride, 
My only care from childhood, 

I have none else beside. 
I've nourished and I've cherished, 

Her lonesome heart to cheer, 
She loves, oh, so fondly, 

And she is to me so dear. 



262 Twelve Years, in the Saddle. 

When our country was in danger 

And called for volunteers, 
Sister threw her arms around me 

And bursted into tears. 
Saying, 'Go, my darling brother, 

Drive the Indians from our shore. 
My heart shall need your presence, 

But our country needs you more. 7 

"My mother, she lies sleeping 

Beneath the churchyard sod, 
And many a year has passed and gone 

Since her spirit went to God. 
My father lies perished 

Beneath the dark blue sea. 
I've no father, I've no mother, 

There is only Nell and me. 

"I know I love my country, 

I have given to her my all, 
And had it not been for my sister, 

I would be content to fall. 
I am dying, comrades, dying, 

She will see me never more, 
But in vain she will wait my coming 

At the little cottage door. 

"Come, gather close around me, 

And listen to my dying prayer. 
You will be to her a brother, 

And shield with a brother's care?" 
The Eangers spoke together, 

As one voice seemed to fall, 
"She will be to us a sister, 

We will guard her, one and all." 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 263 

One short, brief look of anguish 

O'er his youthful face was spread; 
One quick, repulsive shadow, 

And the Eanger boy was dead. 
On the banks of the old Nueces 

We laid him down to rest, 
With a saddle for a pillow, 

x4nd a Lone Star on his breast. 
July 29, 1897. W. E. Stiles. 



The Old Cowboy of the Plains. 

Written by a Mountain Buffalo Hunter — Jim Williams. 
The day is bleak and cold and drear, 
Summer is gone and winter is near; 
The cold blue air upholds no birds, 
And the cattle drift south in rustling herds. 

The cowboy's round-up and trail work's done, 
He hangs up his saddle, his spurs, and his gun, 
He turns out his ponies on the mesquite grass, 
And rustles the shippers for a homeward pass. 
If he can't get a pass he will rustle the freights 
Until he gets back to his home in the States. 

He crossed the broad plains way back in '68, 
When mules and ox-wagons hauled all the freight; 
The California route was the usual trail, 
And the stage coach and ponies carried the mail. 
He would tell tales all winter of the long, long ago, 
Of Indians on the prairies, and the herds of buffalo. 

When you hear him sing his songs all so sad, 
You'd think after all — he is not so bad. 
"It's bury me not in the lone prairie, 



264: Twelve Years in tpie Saddle. 

Where the wild coyotes will howl o'er me, 

Where the wild rose blooms, and the wind sports free, 

Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie." 

Then again he would laugh and fill with mirth, 
And tell of Broncho that quits the earth, 
Or when he was called out in the dead hour of night 
To check a stampede, or Indians to fight. 

From Texas to Montana he followed the trail, 

And at Denver and Cheyenne he expected his mail. 

None but old cowboy can realize or ever know 

The dangers and hardships we experienced from South Texas 
to mountain peaks of snow. 

Through blinding rain and sunshine — though the days and 
nights were long, 

The weeks and months were rolling while he sung his cow- 
boy song. 

Trail on, Dogies, Montana is your home, 

From the salt grass and cactus to the north plains you must 
roam. 

With his saddle for a pillow under his head, 

The grass of the prairie served him for his bed. 

Often he watched the bright stars until almost day, 

Thinking of his home and sweetheart so far away. 

He rejoices when frost falls, and he sees the Autumn moon, 

For his work is about over, and he is going home soon. 

He said to the boys as he boarded the train, 
'"You will never see me on the plains again. 
This cowboy life is tough and all too sad. 
I'll buy me a farm and settle down beside my old dad. 
Just think of the big red apples, and my brown-eyed Sue, 
And the good times that's coming to me down in old 
'Missou.' " 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 265 

He arrives home for Christmas, or perhaps Thanksgiving da) 7 , 
When the old folks are happy, and the yonng folks are gay. 
The girls are all smiling on reckless broncho rider, 
And are treating him to home-made candy, ginger cakes, and 

apple cider. 
While one old couple were pleased, they were saying "Now, 

daughter Marandy, 
We know very well for whom you are making that 'lasses' 

candy. 
I wouldn't go to any trouble for him if I were you, 
For he is desperately in love with your little cousin Sue." 

So winter after winter the boys drifted home from the West. 

And each girl in her linsey done her level best 

To corral the wild cowboy and tame him down 

And keep him from getting drunk and shooting up the town. 

These boys seemed restless, and loved to chase the "Long 

Horn/' 
Instead of being a nester and plowing the green corn. 

He took in the theaters, the varieties and dance, 

And took a sly drink whenever there was a chance. 

He would seldom go home for his dinner at noon, 

For he was watching some game in a down town saloon. 

And on bologna, cheese and crackers he would feed, 

While he told some tenderfoot of a big stampede. 

His money all spent, he barely escapes jail, 

And resolves once more to hit the cowboy trail. 

Many years have passed, now, and the old folks are dead, 

He don't go home winters, but is a line rider instead. 

So alone in his dug-out through the long winter nights he 

does stay, 
Listening to the wail of the winds, and the wolves on the 

hills not far away. 



266 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Quietly and slowly he is filling his pipe with long green 
And thinking of the trials and hardships he has seen. 
It's strange he did not save up some of his gains before it 

was too late, . 
And buy that little farm back in his old native State ; 
For his girl sure loved him, and for him would still be 

setting baits, 
If it had not been for a young farmer back in the States. 
So sadly and slowly he thinks as he smokes, 
And is wondering who is now telling the tenderfoot's jokes. 

He had been a Texas Eanger, and stood for many a year, 

A target for desperadoes without a thought of fear. 

Spring opens at last on the far distant plain, 

And the line rider comes out in his saddle again. 

He is dashing and bold, but he is getting quite old, 

And the story of another cowboy will soon be told. 

And as he lay on the ground and gazed at the same bright 

stars in June, 
He felt that his time was coming soon 
To join the old cowboys who had gone before 
To the great Eternal Round-up on the other shore. 
His life had been wrecked, and he felt that he must soon die, 
And he wondered if there was a home for the cowboys in 

the Sweet By-and-By. 
And if on the other side of Jordan in the green fields of Eden, 
Where the Tree of Life is blooming — if there is rest for me. 

"I have rode my last broncho," to the boys he had said, 
While out on the prairie he made down his bed. 
Alas, it was too true, for just before dawn 
To the great Eternal Bound-up his spirit had gone. 
Then we dug a shallow grave, just six by three, 
And buried him out on the lone prairie. 

J. R. Williams. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 267 

House of Representatives, 
State of Texas. 

Whereas, Captain W. J. L. Sullivan was elected 
doorkeeper of the Thirty-First Legislature, at the 
beginning of the Regular Session, and has served 
in that capacity with distinction, and 

Whereas, He has always been on time, and has 
never been absent from duty during the entire ses- 
sion, and 

Whereas, During all the calls of the House he 
was always courteous, but firm as the "Rock of 
Gibraltar," and 

Whereas, He has performed all the duties of 
Doorkeeper in a most efficient manner, therefore 
be it 

Resolved, By the House of Representatives that 
the House extends to him its sincere thanks for so 
faithfully discharging all of his duties as Door- 
keeper. 

(Signed) Aston. 



District Clerk's Office, Tarrant County. 

W. D. McVean, Clerk, 

Mike E. Smith, Judge, 17th Dist. 

Irby Dunklin, Judge, 48th Dist. 

Ft. Worth, Texas, January 9, 1902. 
W. J. L. Sullivan, Esq., Dalhart, Texas. 

My Dear Friend : I am in receipt of your let- 
ter of recent date telling me of the unfortunate oc- 
curence which resulted in the death of a man at 
your hands in your attempt to make an arrest of 
another. I had also read of the affair in the news- 



268 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

papers, and was much grieved to learn of it, both 
on your account as well as on account of the one 
who was killed. I have known you well ever since 
I was a child, and feel assured beyond the possi- 
bility of a doubt that the killing was an honest 
mistake on your part. I have never heard you 
charged of doing any living person a wilful wrong, 
and knowing your noble, generous nature as I do, 
I know you are incapable of such an act. Your 
brave, honest nature would not permit you to take 
even an unfair advantage of an enemy in a con- 
flict, much less to wilfully kill an innocent man 
whom you did not know and against whom you 
had no grievance. While the affair was most un- 
fortunate and deeply to be deplored, I have no 
doubt but that any officer in your position at the 
time, and viewing the surroundings as you did, 
would have done likewise. I consider the whole 
occurrence more as an accident, or as the result of 
accidental circumstances, than otherwise, and I 
sincerely sympathize with you in your deep re- 
grets over it all. No one who knows and believes 
in you, as I do, will censure you under all the cir- 
cumstances. 

Your friend sincerely, 

Irby Dunklin. 



Last Letter Written by 4 Condemned Man. 

On October 27, 1899, Rev. G. E. Morrison was 
hanged in Vernon for the murder of his wife in 
Panhandle City in the spring of that year. This 
was one of the most celebrated and remarkable 
murders, trials and executions that has ever 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 269 

occurred in Texas, and attracted more attention, 
perhaps, in the State and Indian Territory than 
any case for many years, owing to the character 
and profession of the man. Captain John L. Sul- 
livan, now of the Capitol police force, assisted in 
the execution of Morrison at Vernon, October 27, 
1899. On the night previous, Captain Sullivan, 
who was on the death watch, requested the con- 
demned man to write him a note that he might 
preserve it as a remembrance. He indited the 
following letter, which has never before been pub- 
lished, the original of which Captain Sullivan has 
in his possession: 

"Vernon, Texas, October 26, 1899. 
"Mr. Sullivan. 

"Dear Sir: You have asked me to write some- 
thing that you can keep to remember the occasion 
of our meeting. I don't know what to say to you, 
but I hope the following may be entirely satis- 
factory : 

"First, I believe in a future life, and I believe 
that men are punished for the sins of this life and 
are rewarded for the good things. Second, I be- 
lieve in a general judgment and all must stand in 
that day before the bar of God and be judged. I 
believe I have the witness of God's spirit bearing 
witness with my own spirit, and believe that, 
though God allows man's law to take my life, yet 
he saves me, and I have no fears of the future 
whatever. 

"Now, good-bye, and may you ever be the cham- 
pion of the right and an enemy of the wrong. 
"Your well wisher, 

"G. E. Morrison." 



270 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

A Tribute of Honor. 

Aberdeen, Texas, August 18, 1893. 
At a meeting of our citizens today the follow- 
ing resolutions were adopted: 

Whereas, On or about April 1, 1893, Corporal 
W. J. L. Sullivan, of Company B, Texas State 
Rangers, established headquarters in our midst 
to investigate charges of cattle stealing and other 
lawlessness preferred by certain private individ- 
uals, whose object in calling on the State for Rang- 
ers we believe to have been the intimidation of set- 
tlers; and 

Whereas, Corporal Sullivan, upon coming here 
had a one-sided story and the prejudice of our peo- 
ple against him, and might very easily have pre- 
cipated much trouble, but by his cool-headed, 
careful and thorough investigation, conducted in 
a gentlemanly manner, he succeeded in tracing 
these false accusations against our community to 
their source, and by his diplomacy averted trou- 
ble; and 

Whereas, Corporal Sullivan has been recalled; 
now, therefore, be it 

Resolved, That we, the undersigned citizens of 
Aberdeen, desire to thank Corporal Sullivan for 
his manly treatment of us all, and for his valuable 
services to our community while located here; and 
be it 

Resolved, That we recommend Corporal Sullivan 
to his superior officer as an officer we believe to be 
possessed of the necessary nerve and ability to per- 
form the most difficult task in his line, and one well 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 



271 



calculated to make the ranger force respected and 
popular among the people; and be it further 

Resolved, That these resolutions be sent to Cor- 
poral Sullivan, and that a copy of the same be fur- 
nished the following papers for publication : Fort 
Worth Gazette, Quanah Chief, Amarillo Northwest 
and Memphis Herald. 

E. E. McCollister, 

W. A. Detherage, 

J. R. Hill, 



S. F. Booker, 
T. E. Walker. 
T. O. Jones, 
J. N. Jones, 
M. C. Starkey, 
Wm. Wall, 
S. E. Tomlinson, 
T. E. Walker, 
Wm. Jones, 
W. E. Johnson, 



AWEN DlLLARD, 

J. G. Wright, 
S. L. Blake, 
J. A. McCracken, 
J. H. White, 
Bob Brown, 
D. A. Goodwin, 
Andy Jones, 
J. W. Ammons. 
J. C. Walker, 
T. B. Starkey, 
A. L. Walker, 
W. P. Bumpass. 



I hewed to the line and let the chips fall where 
they may and won the victory. Thank God my 
motto is do right and go ahead. 

W. J. L. Sullivan, 
Ex-Sergeant of Company B, Texas Rangers. 

(Copied August 23, 1906, by G. C. Morriss.) 



272 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

(Copy.) 

Austin, Texas, August 1, 1906. 
Sergeant W. J. L. Sullivan, City. 

My Dear Fellow: I am glad to bear testi- 
mony to the brave and faithful service you ren- 
dered your State as a Texas Ranger during a long 
series of years of arduous duties. I know you love 
Texas far more than thousands who have pro- 
claimed their patriotism from political platforms. 

I have not forgotten the dark days of ten to 
twenty years ago when, in many localities, the 
presence of the Texas Rangers was the only thing 
that gave hope of protection of life and property; 
the years of awful dread that hung over the coun- 
ties bordering on the Colorado River, from Milburn 
to BlufTton, which saw the first rift in the lowering 
clouds of mob rule, when you and your little band 
of rangers " struck camp" in the very heart of the 
"mob country/' and by fearless vigilance, abso- 
lutely untiring, day and night, at last brought as- 
surance of law and order to that terror-stricken 
community. 

It was my privilege to see much of you in that 
dangerous position and undertaking, and my pleas- 
ure to know that the courage, tact and skill dis- 
played by you under many trying conditions met 
with the praise of all fair-minded citizens. And, 
too, I was a distressed onlooker and interested with 
painful regret the unfortunate accident that befell 
you one cold December day in 1896, resulting from 
your extreme desire to lend every aid to the county 
authorities in ferreting out crime. The sheriff 
rushed up to you saying: "John L., let one of your 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 273 

boys go after Del Dean, a horse thief, who has just 
left town. He was indicted by the grand jury." 
There were none of your "boys " in hailing distance, 
so you said " What's the matter with me " and was 
now chasing that coyote through the mountain 
brakes south of the town, where "Old Sorrel" made 
an airship of you and your ordnance of dynamite 
shells in an unannounced rehearsal of a "high som- 
ersaulting performance," I suppose, although I had 
not noticed any bill-posters about town that day. 
During the "rehearsal" you went on a strike, two 
strikes in fact, one for high air and then for a soft 
spot to alight, which was about a solid acre of 
"honeycomb" limestone, where the citizens' com- 
mittee of lawyers and doctors spent several hours 
tenderly, and with suppressed curses, gathered up 
the fragments and carting them to town. There 
were no rocks left on that acre, you and the dyna- 
mite cartridges had not done a thing to them. 

I think you still carry a souvenir of that per- 
formance somewhere about your right wrist. You 
merit the gratitude of every friend of law and or- 
der, by your long, courageous, faithful service as 
a Texas Ranger of the true type, ever ready, never 
tiring, and always civil, courteous and sober. 
Texas never had a more zealous and fearless ranger 
in her service, is the way I size you up, and this is 
endorsed by hundreds of men scattered from here 
to the lonely dugout in the Indian Territory, where 
Beckham passed in his checks one bitter cold night 
when "Old John L.," far in the van, grew impatient 
for the others to arrive, and charged the outlaws. 
You carry a broken rib, I believe, as a memento of 
that little fracas. Your friend, 

Sidon Harris. 



274 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Turner and Boyce, 
Lawyers. 

Amarillo, Texas, December 26, 1904. 

To the Members-elect of the Twenty-ninth Legisla- 
ture: 

It has just come to my knowledge that Mr. W. 
J. L. Sullivan, late of Company B, Frontier Bat- 
talion of Texas, will be an applicant for the posi- 
tion of Doorkeeper of the House of Representa- 
tives, and, as a citizen of Texas who feels a deep 
interest in securing the very best material to fill 
the various places of public trust, I wish to add my 
testimony to the deserving worth of Mr. Sullivan. 

I have known Mr. Sullivan for over fifteen years, 
during a large portion of which time he was sta- 
tioned at Amarillo as one of the rangers of Com- 
pany B, and, if my memory is not at fault, he was 
for some time First Sergeant of that company here. 
He has always been one of the most zealous and 
faithful officers it has ever been my pleasure to 
know. He was always unflinching in his high re- 
gard for and devotion to duty. It is his nature to 
be passionately loyal to the enforcement of the 
laws, and so well-known is his courage and fidelity 
to duty that his name has long been a constant 
terror to evil-doers. His fearlessness in the face 
of danger, and his sterling integrity was, during 
his stay with us, a reassuring safeguard of our pro- 
tection against violators of the law. No matter 
how desperate the criminal whose capture was de- 
sired, nor how many hardships were to be endured 
in his pursuit, there was never the slightest degree 
of hesitancy on the part of Mr. Sullivan, or "John 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 275 

L.," as he is familiarly known. He was always 
ready and anxious to do his whole duty, and his 
valuable services have been highly beneficial to the 
Panhandle. 

Besides being a splendid officer, Mr. Sullivan is 
a sober, honorable and reliable man. He stands 
high among the people who know him best, and he 
has many friends throughout this section who feel 
that his long and faithful services to the State, the 
many hardships which he endured, and the exam- 
ple which he set for the public good, ought to be 
rewarded now with the position which he seeks. 
Very truly yours, 

Thos. F. Turner. 



San Saba, Texas, January 25, 1902. 
To the Grand Jury of Dallam County, Texas, at 
their next regular session in and for said county: 
I have learned with regret of the trouble my old 
friend, John L. Sullivan, has had recently in your 
county in trying to arrest two murderers, which he 
had been notified and requested to do, and, know- 
ing John L. as I do, and feeling the interest in him 
and his welfare that I do, and having good reasons 
for it that I have, I hope you will excuse me for 
writing on the subject, which is not done to try 
and influence you corruptly or wrongfully, but 
that you consider his character and disposition 
along with the actions you may deem necessary 
to investigate and take action on, in connection 
with the unfortunate affair John L. got into, and 
that you may do your duty and act justly in the 
matter. 



276 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

I have known Mr. Sullivan for the last ten or 
twelve years as an officer and law-abiding citizen, 
and State ranger as a man that is always ready to 
try to do his duty fearlessly. I was District At- 
torney in the Forty-sixth Judicial District of Texas 
under G. A. Brown, the District Judge, and in some 
of the counties in my district I had some just such 
characters to deal with in my prosecutions as those 
murderers Sullivan ran onto in your country, and 
they would form clans to try to intimidate and de- 
ter me from prosecuting them vigorously, and my 
District Judge often deemed it necessary to call on 
the Governor for State rangers to come to the 
courts for my protection and safety. John L. Sul- 
livan was always sent as sergeant of a squad of 
rangers to protect me and preserve order in the 
court, and John L. always accomplished the pur- 
pose for which he was sent, and did it wisely and 
fearlessly, and proved himself one of the best and 
most cautious, as well as determined, officers I 
ever saw or knew. He has come in contact with 
such daring, desperate characters so often, and 
knows their plays so well, that he can't afford to 
wait, when he sees a criminal make an obstinate 
play, when he is trying to arrest him, and the ques- 
tion in this case, as it seems, was whether he should 
wait and delay his opportunity until him or his as- 
sistant, or both, were shot down by the outlaws; 
or, whether as a good officer, he should do his duty 
at once, and out of the abundance of caution beat 
his desired prisoners shooting, when the first in- 
timation of the outlaws indicated their purpose, 
and in the furore and excitement, and so many 
shooting on both sides — one to enforce the maj- 



Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 277 

esty of the law and the other to resist it — it is hard 
to tell whose bullets did the killing. All good cit- 
izens should uphold the majesty of the law and the 
officers of the law in the discharge of their duty. 

I am not dictating to you, Gentlemen, but I do 
not want you to be deceived in the character of 
Mr. Sullivan. Begging your pardon for troubling 
you this much, I am truly yours for justice and 
right, be that in favor or against my old friend. 
(Signed) G. W. Walters, 

Attorney-at-Law. 



Dalhart, Texas, January 12, 1903* 
To Whom it May Concern: 

I take pleasure in pleading the cause of my old 
friend, John L. Sullivan. I have known him long, 
and know him to be a brave, good man and a Chris- 
tian gentleman. Long he has served in Western 
Texas. He has spent the best part of his life in 
its service, arways ready to defend the right and 
fight the wrong. I have seen, in new Western 
towns — even right here in Dalhart, in its infancy — 
robberies and lawlessness of all kinds committed 
daily. 

John L. Sullivan came, and it was like a calm 
before a mighty storm, wrestling with unseen dan- 
ger, but he was there calm and immovable, brave 
as a lion, ready to do his duty and serve his peo- 
ple. And now, dear friends, I think he deserves 
something at the hands of the people he has served 
so long and faithfully. Long live my old friend 
and his name long after he is gone. " Honor to 
whom honor is due" has always been my motto. 



278 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

There is no man in Western Texas more deserving 
than John L. Sullivan, the faithful discharger of 
duty. 

Respectfully , 
(Signed) Mrs. M. S. Jackson. 



Flack & Dalrymple, 
Attorneys- at-Law. 

Llano, Texas, July 29, 1907. 
To Governor Geo. Curry, Santa Fe, N. M. 

My Dear Sir: I take great pleasure in recom- 
mending to your most favorable consideration my 
old friend, Capt. W. J. L. Sullivan; I understand 
he will be an applicant for a captaincy of mounted 
police under your administration; if so, you can 
find no better man for the position. I have known 
him as an officer for the past twenty-five years, 
and when I say he has at all times done his full 
duty I speak only the truth, and when it can be 
said of a man that he has faithfully discharged his 
duty, no more need be said, for in that sentence is 
contained sufficient to a business man like your- 
self; however, I will further say that Capt. Sulli- 
van has been with a Texas Ranger force for the 
past twelve years, and in that capacity he has been 
called to the aid of our peace officers from one end 
of our State to the other. His field of action has 
been mostly confined to West Texas, where he has 
had to contend with all character of violators of 
the law, from the midnight assassin to the petty 
thief, but his best work has been done in dealing 
with what is known in central West Texas as the 



Twelve Years .in" the Saddle. 279 

"mob;" I speak of this because his work in that 
line came under my direct observation. In rid- 
ding that portion of our State of the "mob" Texas 
owes Capt. Sullivan a debt of gratitude she can 
never pay. He is a man of great executive abil- 
ity, nature having done much for him in that way ; 
cool, calm and deliberate in action, and in whose 
make-up the word "fear" has no abiding place 
"in any fiber of his existence." During his long 
career as an officer he has been called to face danger 
in its every form, and he has yet to show the "white 
feather," for he has never done so up to this hour. 
Having been brought frequently "face to face" 
with the very worst element of the West Texas 
desperado, he has never come in contact with a 
sufficient number to check him from his duty. He 
has courage without rashness, and his experience 
as an officer would aid him greatly in dealing with 
the character of men you want controlled ; he knows 
them as few men know them; he knows the best 
method of dealing with them, and I am sure he 
would make you a valuable man anywhere you 
may place him. 

My dear sir, in writing you as I have, in behalf 
of Capt. Sullivan, I have not indulged in fulsome 
praise, but simply speak truthful words which 
came direct from my heart. I have not gone into 
detail, because I know your time is too valuable to 
be thus consumed. Myself, in common with a host 
of Capt. Sullivan's friends out West, would be much 
pleased if you could find it consistent with your 
duty to give him a place under your administra- 
tion; he is worthy of it, and I feel sure you would 
never have cause to regret it. Captain Sullivan's 



280 Twelve Yeaes in the Saddle. 

personal integrity is above reproach, and his cour- 
age is unsurpassed. 

Hoping your administration will prove a bless- 
ing to your people, and with best regards, I am, 
Yours very respectfully, 

(Signed) Jas. Flack, 

Ex-Member Texas Legislature (not Thirtieth.) 



Dalhart, Texas, January 8, 1903. 
To Whom it May Concern: 

I am very much pleased to write this letter in 
behalf of our much appreciated friend, Mr. John 
L. Sullivan. If, perchance, it may through some 
divine power or influence, find its way to a de- 
serving community who needs and is able to pay 
for the services of a faithful, much deserving offi- 
cer and Christian gentleman, which we Dalhart 
people have found in the person of Mr. Sullivan. 
His presence in our midst is like a ray of sunshine 
in time of storm, both as a firm, kind-spoken of- 
ficer — whom he thinks would feel sadly disgraced 
should he for a moment shrink from his duty or 
betray any trust reposed in him — and a friendly 
Christian visitor. We regret very much to lose him 
from our little town, which he served so faithfully. 

His memory, I dare say, will be like letters of 
gold in pictures of silver when we think of the re- 
formation wrought by his services, and wherever 
he may go we bid him God speed. 

Very truly, 
(Signed) Mrs. S. Hoffman. 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 281 

Douglassville, Texas, February 13, 1908. 
Gov. George Curry, Santa Fe, N. M. 

Dear Sir : I am now about to engage in a duty 
that we owe to each other, our fellow man; I am 
now recommending to you a friend, a man that I 
know to be true to his country and true to his fel- 
low man in every sense of the word. The man 
that I present to you is the Hon. W. J. L. Sulli- 
van; I have known him for forty years. He is an 
honorable, truthful, sober Christian gentleman as 
ever lived, and if you can help Mr. Sullivan I will 
appreciate the favor, and he has many friends in 
this country that will consider it a great favor. 
Yours truly, 
(Signed) W. B. Heath, 

Justice of the Peace, Cass County, Texas. 



Douglassville, Texas, February 9, 1908. 
Gov. George Curry, Santa Fe, N. M. 

Dear Sir: The gentleman who presents this 
to you is Capt. W. J. L. Sullivan, a citizen of this 
place, who visits your city on personal business, 
and any courtesies shown him will be gratefully 
appreciated by his many friends throughout Texas. 

For many years he has served our State as one 
of the Rangers, and in other responsible ways, and 
has always been true to every trust and faithful 
and honest to every friend, and a terror to evil- 
doers. Hence, it is, I take pleasure in handing 
you this indorsement of an honest man. 
Respectfully yours, 
(Signed) W. D. Stone. 



282 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

Douglass ville, Texas, February 14, 1908. 
Gov. George Curry, Santa Fe, N. M. 

Dear Sir: I take this occasion to introduce 
to you the bearer of this letter, Mr. W. J. L. Sul- 
livan, whom I have known personally for forty 
years. Mr. Sullivan is generous, honorable, and, 
in fact, one of Nature's noblemen. 

He served in the capacity of State Ranger for 
twelve years, with great credit to himself and an 
honor to the State of Texas. Mr. Sullivan visits 
your State on private business. 

Any advice and assistance you may render will 
be highly appreciated by him, and duly acknowl- 
edged by myself. 

}M Believing that your acquaintance will be mu- 
tual and agreeable, I am, 

Very respectfully, 
(Signed) T. G. Howe, M. D. 



February 5, 1908. 
Gov. George Curry, Santa Fe, N. M. 

Dear Sir: This will introduce to your favora- 
ble acquaintance my friend, Mr. W. J. L. Sullivan, 
whom I have favorably known for more than thir- 
ty-five years. Mr. Sullivan has been" an officer as 
State Ranger for twelve years, in which position 
he rendered efficient and a valuable service to our 
State. 

I can truthfully say that Mr. Sullivan is a truth- 
ful, reliable, sober gentleman, and stands pre-emi- 
nently high with all Texans as an officer and pub- 
lic servant. 

My friend, Sullivan, visits your State on private 



Twelve Years in the Saddle. 283 

business of his own. Anything that you can do 
for him, or favors rendered, will be highly appre- 
ciated by the writer. 

Very respectfully, 
(Signed) A. C. Smith. 



Douglassville, Texas, February 13, 1908. 
Gov. George Curry, Santa Fe, N. M. 

Dear Sir: This will be handed to you by my 
friend, Mr. W. J. L. Sullivan, whom I have known 
from his boyhood, and cheerfully recommend him 
to the favorable consideration and confidence of 
the public. 

Any favors shown him will be duly appreciated 
by his many friends in Cass County, Texas. 
Yours respectfully, 
(Signed) A. C. Oliver, M. D. 



The Ex-Ranger Recovering. 



A BRAVE AND FEARLESS MAN WHO HAS TAKEN 
MANY RISKS. 



Ex-Ranger Sergeant W. J. L. Sullivan (better 
known as "John L.") is rapidly improving from 
the recent accident which occurred at his ranch 
north of town some two months ago. As a full 
account was given in these columns at the time, 
it is not necessary to refer to it again. 

Sullivan's first experience as a ranger was in 
1888, under Captain McMurry, who was then 



284 Twelve Years in the Saddle. 

commanding Company B of the State Ranger 
force. Since that time Sullivan has been a 
terror to the lawbreakers of the State and has 
succeeded in running down more criminals than 
any other Ranger ever in the service, before or 
since. 

Eminently possessed of those sturdy qualities 
which go to make up a successful executive 
officer, Sullivan has justly earned a distinction 
as broad as that State, which he so faithfully 
served. 

Quiet, cool, and always sober, he stood when 
in the service without a peer in the State as an 
executive officer. He made some enemies, it is 
true, but so has every other officer who has dis- 
charged his duty as honestly and as fearlessly as 
he did. It is not necessary to enumerate numer- 
ous scouts and various expeditions led and the 
important captures made, as they are a part of 
the criminal annals of our State. Wish you an 
immediate recovery, John L., and may you live 
many years to rest on the laurels you have so 
justly won. — Amarillo Northwest. 



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